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. |