Storms Wrath Poem by Arthur F. Jackson

(except from Storm's Wrath) I look to the east
where I spy the wild beast
it's muscles rippling and twisting
changing it's form
dressing in colors of gray and black
casting shadows of darkness
where light is lack
I wait only for it's wrath to be released
slowly it passes south by east
easing not my mind from this terrible beast
for as he passes, his power withheld
here comes another straight from hell