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Rated: · Poetry · Environment · #1814392
Rough draft. written during the hurricane
Thunder clap like low cannon fire in the distance.
A flash of lighning stepping down from its pedistal among the clouds, roaring into the ground with sheer force.
The ever changing tide dancing across the midnight blue sky.
Its ocean mist against the stars falling like a cascade of bullets unto the world below.
The stars bursts of the crimson rocketts fighting their own battle midfilght.
Feirce wind rushing itself in a malestrum of violent furry around the trees and houses.
The storm advancing itself across the suburbs, ravaging its way to its checkpoint.
Thunder clap The rain leting up the war slowing down.
All starts to clam and the smoke and mist settles.
The slivery moon waining and waxing it self around the world only reveals what has been done.
Survivors emerge from their shelters.
The air fresh, yet heavy with sorrow for those not so fortunate.
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