Caught in this web
I cannot move.
Memory
strains for depleted days
like thunder raging
in distant valleys.
I recall the squalls
that shattered my sky,
the rain that poured spite
and held me in its
violent thrall.
Yet
I may not flee
to what still may be
though intently I peer into
fading western air
to find some sign
of tomorrow’s beauty
or fear.
Thus Hope
wavers and fails
like a pithy stalk
in a ceaseless gale.
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