Storm

 

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From the prevailing west
Cyclonic lows
Push
Wet faced
Across
The foot scuffed
Rough,
Browning upon
The boundary rock,
Greying the low sky
And darkening every
Thoughtful perspective
To a buffeted corner
Of the wind swept mind.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

2 thoughts on “Storm

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