Torn
Grey clouds tower above
Strong winds push and shove
Rain drops pelt like bullets
Sirens cry all night through it
Thunder clashes, shaking the ground
People cry, another touched down
Train whistles blowing
But not a train was found
Everything went quiet
And all was still
They woke the next morning
No longer a town
But a new land fill
Copyright © Brittany Askins | Year Posted 2016
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