The Storm

Posted: September 10, 2013 in Poetry
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There’s a charge in the air,

I can feel it rising with the wind,

The light is all wrong for the texture of the air,

An enveloping madness will rise again…

The beasties have all fled,

Smelling the blood in the air,

The little ones are safe in bed,

While their dense parents engage in war…

“This is MY spot!”

“It’s too cold, it’s too hot!”

“You can’t have my last one!”

“Then how would I have any fun?”

I step out of the stream of angry sheep,

Watching them flow about my stillness like weak rapids,

I can’t hear my thoughts for the bleats,

Why are they all on their knees?

I choose to be the wolf,

Who doesn’t don sheep’s clothing,

I will not hide my teeth,

I refuse to hide my howling…

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