Treasure Island

Ell Ell


The Storm


Past the flames, orange and stilted;
and the moon's light floods the lonely fields.
Something stirs in midnight's silence.
The wind howls and echoes by.

Sweeping the fields and turning grass;
breaking the necks of its bloodied roses.
The naked arms of the birch trees rustle
as the rain lashes and glistens below

until a flash of thunder; silver-white
burns the sky and lights the green.
The emerald shines and its knife blades thrash.
The glass rattles and the fire flickers.

Submitted: Monday, July 30, 2012
Edited: Tuesday, August 07, 2012

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