The Enemy
The day is cold and brisk,
Wind beating against my delicate body
Like a touch of a fist
Blowing with a fierce melody
Ready to make another grand stand.
Anger is its name
And destination clobbers
Those who enter its path
Like a piece of clay.
Time lingers
And nothing fits into place
And the bells ring.
A toll has been made
Of the survivors who sing.
Copyright © Ellen Krug | Year Posted 2006
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