Linda

POETRY IS WHAT THE SOULS OF THE ANCIENTS SPEAK TO THOSE STILL SEEKING WHAT IS MOST BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD. FROM: LINDA

Saturday, May 18, 2019





Written in 2015 by little old me

Storm


He hears,
Raging,
Howling,
Thunderous bellowing.

He feels,
Slamming,
Wet,
Splashing,
On eyes and face.

He sees,
Bright lights
Flashing behind his eyes,
Sudden darkness.

The sound of sirens,
Screaming.

He awakens in an ambulance,
Remembers the savage beating
He endured
At the hands of an abusive father

When the storm came.

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