Fingers crawling, cross the sky
Grasping shadows, as they fly
Without care, they go awry

In the darkness, lights, adorning

When at last, the dawn of day
Awakens where it longs to play
It’s decided, it cannot stay

Gone quickly, before morning

Yet, to return, and start anew
Fingers twisted, turned, askew
And we know not what to do

Its evil deeds, suborning

Alas, the storm, is surely we
And we watch, but never see
What has become, of you, and me

Best to heed its warning

 

September Writing Prompt – #25 When the storm is raging

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