The Coming Storm
A blind fury builds
in my belly of cloud,
winding up like a spring
over an angry ocean.
Soon I will let go.
I care nothing
for your prayers
and follow only the dark
formula of chaos.
A butterfly bore me.
For the moment
sit in your comfortable chair
near the window,
listen to a gentle breeze
rustle the leaves.
Take in the beauty
of the morning sky
colored red
by a rising sun.
I come.
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