martin.j. schofield

Rookie (12/18/67 / scarborough, north yorkshire, england)

The Storm (E) - Poem by martin.j. schofield

Where to this rises?
This sound of anger purged with Malice,
From the heavens mighty vault, I surmise;
Or bowls I decree.


No! No! Have mercy,
Lords of the spiralling staircase,
Why too must we suffer;
Indignation and hardship.


I beseech you,
Qualm your frown,
And lay down your arm,
We can not, indeed have not;
Harmed thee,
We mere mortals.


But the storm gains power,
As we cower,
Before your blastedness,
Redeem many, lest I speak;
Out of turn.


Run, run, my children,
From the swirling masses,
The howling tears,
Opening thine skies;
Ultimately showering our humbleness.


What then afore we perish?
'Tis gone! '
All with it,
The calm brings peace,
And the peace?
Brings Joy!


Comments about The Storm (E) by martin.j. schofield

  • Hans Vr (1/26/2012 5:17:00 PM)


    Wonderful ending. Not many people realise that all storms end this way. Very good write. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 26, 2012



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