SILENCE OF A DISASTROUS SORT
The quiet before the storm,
The strange silence.
An akward feeling,
And uncertainty of its whereabouts.
The wind before the rain;
The breeze that turns
Desperately, instanstly
Into a fearful fury.
Then it happens, the storm hits.
It's all too soon,
You're all too late.
Frantically searching,
Scavenging for a safe haven,
And finding none.
Instead, you resort to pain
And anguish, taking it on,
Like a soldier in a war:
Hoping for survival,
And to see the advancing day.
--not about weather.
