The Gods Are Angry

Rolling anvils amongst the silence
the day splattered as thunder shatters
blades of light slice the boiling sky
ripping the dying blue to angry grey

Sitting on the deck small and humbled
as a world is torn and ripped asunder
huddled like a cigarette bent and stubbed
in last weeks stale unemptied ashtray

Stoic Poetry

One thought on “The Gods Are Angry

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