Storm Passing

Storm Passing

The dark gray skies smother the sun,
A shroud of sorrow stitched in shadow,
Where wind and rain braid their fury
Into a tempest’s unrelenting fist.

Each gust is a merciless hand,
Sweeping rooftops like fallen leaves,
Knocking souls to their knees,
Reminding flesh of its frailty.

The storm is a dragon unchained,
Its breath a howl, its teeth the lashing rain,
Devouring certainty, clawing at peace,
Leaving only the wreckage of what was.

We huddle beneath trembling walls,
Prayers pressed against the thunder’s roar,
Seeking sanctuary beneath unseen wings,
Longing for light beyond the flood.

Yet even the storm, for all its wrath,
Must bow before the breaking dawn,
Its rage retreating to distant horizons,
Where the sun returns to lay its golden hands
Upon the trembling earth once more.

Copyright © 2025 Charles Edward York
No part of this poem may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way or form or by any means electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise without the written permission of the author.*