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About This Poem
Storm
Grey-black clouds above me roll
with a loud and fearsome tone --
huge dark boulders of the skies,
carved from granite-stone.
Forked bolts of lightning flash,
points just above my head --
sparks kindled by the clash of spears
whose owners long are dead.
Glistening drops of moisture fall
with a silence-shattering sound--
drops that are tears of souls whose fears
must, and ever shall, abound.
The piercing wind-sound of the fury
screams an ultimatum in my ear --
it is insane shrieking from a witch
who fills mankind with fear.
Shaken by this awful show
of mighty forces in the night,
I, in haste, with humble mien,
retreat within in fright.
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