The Coming Storm (a poem)
A heavy storm is brewing,
out on horizon’s line.
Panic sets as we worry how,
to prepare ourselves in time.
A heavy storm is brewing,
out on horizon’s line.
Panic sets as we worry how,
to prepare ourselves in time.
Heroes stand tall,
for those who feel small,
lifting their spirits to the sky.
Lost courage regained,
we move past the pain,
never again asking why.
Of what more worth are we than dirt,
with vain ambitions nigh?
Crawling up on spindly legs,
to gaze upon the sky.
Her hair hung down in ashen curls,
on skin all snowy white.
Hazel eyes adorned her face,
her collar buttoned tight.
A rosary wrapped around her hands,
on which countless prayers were raised,
a gift from Mom, to a little girl,
that lasted all her days.
Awakened again,
unable to sleep,
for the stirrings below
of leviathans deep.
I relish the feeling of crisp new pages,
the scent of ink in the air.
Some, may speak of enchanted places.
A handsome prince, a maiden fair.
Ever speaking of future,
my dreams I would share.
Oh the things I’d accomplish,
when I arrived there.
When at last I looked back,
it was then I did find,
my life was created,
one day at a time.
Dodging, darting they separate,
in playful colors beneath the sun.
Paths cross as they converge,
again becoming one.
It’s a short-lived reunion,
as their ways part once again.
United in divergence,
like leaves blown in the wind.
Enjoying the beauty of meter and rhyme,
a poem revealed inscribing each line.
One day I’ll be lost to the passage of time,
but dreams will live on in this poem of mine.
Today I rose before my eyes could see.
To keep them closed is just stupidity.
With all the struggle that’s in front of me,
feet hit the floor.
The morning paper smacks me in the face.
Sometimes this world can be an awful place.
Lost my faith in the human race.
Then I look next door.
© 2009-2026 E.L. Redwine