Writing Storm


The storm burst on the violet sky,
As the Carpathen woman gave out a cry.
A splendor in shadow that arrested sight,
Is vivid on the page with pompous might.

As in a dream, I stand and watch,
Or run very fast, so I may catch,
The elusive and mysterious thought,
That changes its shape when it is caught.

Images appear, intrinsically clear,
Created by time and all that is dear.
Yet, spanning the windmills of time,
Is the knowledge of you that is mine.

The storm burst on the violet sky,
Seen yet again, in the mind's eye,
The color, the sound, the fear that is built,
Is woven together in a lasting quilt.

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