the slow art of breathing bitter

Before The Storm

Before the tempest of death or so,

When I heard it coming,

I just paused and paid a look back

at the cries, late-night cries from home

calling from behind.

The sky was groaning,

The tender flowers—

they were about to doze off now

upon the heavy breast of the dry earth—

And I was here, to face the impending storm,

to battle with it

Upon this earth—away from all.

Away, away, away from all,

all those I have loved and yearned for—

I knew I'd never come back again,

and yet

there was very little you could do, dear,

Except for pulling me in your ever-desired affectionate embrace;

Where in each heartbeat and breath of yours

I could find the calmness—

like the storm has just passed away.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

A/N: I was thinking of some light votes after the storm would pass ;)