Rumbling in the distance,
I hear your discontent.
You rage and you grumble,
and prepare to pour forth
again.
You paint the skies
a coffin grey
and hide the light away.
I wonder at your fury,
your very blustery anger.
But I also know the chill
you bring
drifting in rolls of thunder.
I watch you shift your shape
and change the colours with which
you drape.
As the winds fade and grow weary,
so too your wintry belly.
You retreat like a whiff of smoke
and vanish into the lightening sky.
I watch you disappear,
as the birds start to sing again.
The streak of lightning,
merely the ending note
to your still angry song.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Random thoughts and occasional rants from a buzzingly manic mind ...
thin red lines
About Me
- Le Roy
- On my tombstone, it should read, "He tried his best and he's going to be missed."
The Thin Red Line
It marks out everything we do. It defines what is good and, in so doing, what is evil as well. It is the finest of margins - between success and failure, happiness and sorrow, all the polarities of life. It reminds us that we must make good choices, the right choices, and emphasises the power of free will. Yet it is not drawn in the sand by chance - but by Hand.