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The Silent Storm Inside My Arms


By Zanny Jacobsen


The silent storm inside my arms,

That swirls and churns in deep blue ink,

Stains the pure fiber of sycamore trees.

The winds push and pull,

Tear and clutch at me.

They’re rode by witches,

That conjure up the lightening.

I’m glad the stars are stuck in place

And glitter in night’s tapestry.

The constellations they create

Are but compasses,

That let me find you.

The rain that tattoos the glass,

Runs rivers in your ghost reflection.

The sky is shared by both of us.

But waves, they skate on by

And drown me in frosty disappointment.

The silent storm inside my arms

Grows stronger.

My skeleton is knocked about

By swelling clouds of dark confusion.

Until I am thrown to bits!

Shattered to oblivion.

A stillness brings the sun.

The same that smiles in Northern skies.

And I am kissed.

Not by amber rays,

But by your arms.

That struggle to rein the painted horses of my storm.

So very silent.


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