Waiting for it to hit.
The storm.
Feel the mist descend,
Colours give way to grey,
Noise dims as it settles,
All around.
Too much force to resist,
Helpless, swept along,
Time will move it on,
But can we survive?
Or are we part of the wreckage,
Left Behind?

by painting piglet

Other poems of PIGLET (6)

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