Our Storm

This is a response to a daily prompt here


Crumbling, thrashing

the wind goes blowing,

howling away our dreams.

Those screams,

those shrieks.

The awful ringing

of the finals reaps.

It approaches, our end.

The perfect storm

brewed of imperfect sand.

They predicted and we fought,

destiny in fever thought.

Pictures replacing the memory,

yearning freedom

from times final decree.

It approaches, comes near.

No light lending guide,

as the bottles fill up

with every tear.

Let go now, no more reproach.

Its either together now

or forever ashore.

We fought, we held,

against time’s gushing repress.

Let the waves of pure now flow.

Let the hurricanes through this blow.

The only way to let it pass,

is to truly let go.


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