The storm is brewing.
I smell it in the air.
I am panicking.
I fear this tempest
might cost my life.
The wind picks up,
hard and fast.
The storm is raging now.
Bitter rain engulfs me.
I can barely breathe.
Everything seems bleak.
I am stuck in mud,
which seems forever.
I pray to be relieved
of this daily nightmare.
I believe prayers are futile.
My God created the storm.
No comments:
Post a Comment