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The Storm
Amey S. Tippett
Painted splendor,
crashing points of light,
heart dives in fearful expectation,
squeezes painfully,
hides without grace.
Water’s fall drowns his
words.
They mean nothing.
Only noisy confusion to cover disgust.
His pride rises,
shouts triumph.
Rounded mouth,
loses words of fright.
Mind screams what I cannot say,
Pleads shamelessly,
begs for life.
Words fly in fisty
frenzy.
Mind detaches,
watches terror not its own.
Hatred wins,
bruises love.
Broken trust
bleeds on my feet,
Plays in shallow graves of musty leaves,
kills maliciously,
sadistic in its taste.
Beauty shattered by his
blows.
They drop incessantly,
blocking thoughts with their fury.
Envy flows,
breeds terror.
Brown eyes,
pooled in silent tears.
Mind walks in brave defiance,
roars obscenity,
trembles with violence.
Filmy clouds relieve the
pain.
It will return.
Madness silent in its screaming.
Rage riots,
vomits lies.
Clapping thunder,
awakens lost souls,
kicks out like frightened animals,
runs blindly,
believes nothing.
Standing in the midst of
hell,
the flame unending.
My body gives its sweet surrender.
Red light glows,
forgives his soul.
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