PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The quiet before the storm. As the air stands still. The sky painted black. The silence almost deafening. Peaceful. Desirable.

Cut short. Never lasting.

Dawn. The beast awakens. Tensions run high. Anxious. Afraid. These eggshells never seem large enough for my feet. I struggle to stay above the blanket of hard air that presses down upon me.

Waiting. Uneasy in my seat.

Departure. That moment the air softens, as I hear footsteps descend upon the stairs. As the tension fades, vanishing into the cool, musky air accompanied by morning.

The storm has passed as the day begins. Solitude, a friend.