The Storm

There is a pulse electrifying the air,
Charging my nerves and freeing the noose.
The clouds are forming over there,
The daytime threads are becoming loose.

Past the fury of the day�s end,
Comes the night in its thundering glaze.
Tonight the rainbow will not show to bend,
As you see your world in an altered haze.

Sooner or later, the storm will come,
And the illusion of safety will fade.
There will be no blue skies, no sun,
Resting your fears where the rain is laid.

There is a light in the distance,
Though it is not what you think.
The day is losing its resistance,
As the sun begins to sink.

The moon will shine for a moment,
Lost in the wet violence of the tempest.
Twilight will lose its usual appointment
To the winds that blow from the west.

Derailed like a capsized freighter,
Your mind is lost in the raging abyss.
Your eyes are your own personal traitors,
You turn away but you can't resist.

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This poem is original and copyright of Ben Ellsworth.
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