Tempest


Usually, the world wakes and the birds sing,
The oceans heave and grumble below,
The skylights drape the earth in heaven’s glow
and the creatures of the world stir alive,
That is the order,
Usually.

Lately the wake occurs still, daily,
But the birds murmur in odes far foul,
The oceans mourn in deathly tides,
The skies betray a murderous heat
and the beings themselves appall,
Shadows cast on past joyous sights,
Only cries and vast empty sites
When shall this tempest pass?
Away with sparse shaken stars,
Lately, lately.

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