The Storm; September 9, 2025
The thunder starts slow, As it shakes my home from the ground up.
Glass shatters on the floor; The echo of my masterpiece unanchored, Making its descent down the rabbit hole, As our castle falls to ruin.
Until it’s just the bones, Exposed, denuded by just a whisper of your name.
The storm of the century, As I go down with the ship Bereft, drowning in the poisoned water of my reverie, Still singing my devotions as the water fills my lungs — A song so sad even Ursula can’t bear to listen.
-AKF