Gabriel Shirley

Storm of Conversion

In your glassy eye
blooms the black cloud
opening up in the above abyss
crashes and thunders

Raindrops blown by the torrential wind
overwhelm the surroundings
drenching and soaking
every grain of soil and leaf of grass

But the ground beneath your feet
as dry and course as sand
the air above you head
lacks the wet drop

The step, the barrier
to overcome the fear
the inevitable squish
of the dangerous turf

When you take it
it engulfs and absorbs
drenching to the marrow
dripping down every inch

The gusts blow you about
the drops smack against your form
in waves of terror
but when you open your eyes

You smile.




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