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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Death · #956104
Just a totally unstructured poem, comparing a murder with a storm
He groaned uncomfortably in his chair,
His shadowed stubble massed across his cheeks
Like clouds, dark storm clouds,
Harry’s thunderclouds massed across his cheeks
And with another throaty groan
He blew a gasp, a heavy sigh
Like a gust of wind it blew
Harry’s winds blew, gales of discontent.
He shifted and stood warily,
The furniture shifted
Like the trees outside his window
Harry’s storm shook the very trees in their place
And anger flushed across him,
Blocking out his sun of reasoning
And all fell dark and stormy,
Harry’s storm was yet to reach its peak
And travelling on his groans and sighs
On his gales and gusts
He crossed the room in rage
His hand forced open the door before him
And like the threatening clouds
He stood there in the doorway
And her rain fell all around him
Pouring tears of fear, she knew
Just what he wanted here in all his fury
His storm it raged across the room
And ripped a lamp from its roots
The trees toppled, torn from their sockets
And down it fell upon her
While his lightening arm struck down
Upon his dearest mother
Her bloody screams and his angry yells
Combining in a powerful thunder
And as the final strike came down
The clouds they parted, their anger unleashed
And like the sky he stood over her,
Puddled, stained with rain and blood
And the calm it came,
After the storm
He smiled, the sun lit up his face
And still he smiled.
© Copyright 2005 BrokenHeartedLoser (brandnewme at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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