Storm Poem by rich soos

Storm



I stare at the clouds
blown into shapes of flowers
birds and animals
there's little to do
but wait for the onslaught to
extinguish my dream


from The Son is Breaking Through (1992)

Friday, November 25, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: dream,shape,storm
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rich soos

rich soos

Passaic, NJ USA
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