The Storm

It moves, it travels, with a vengeful wrath,

Leaving only destruction in its path.

It does this deed to reach its end,

It leaves no trace of what it hath.


What end it seeks, no one knows,

Nor can they tell where the wind blows.

Try as they may, they will never see,

For its goals, and its ends, it never shows.


They see the calm of the storm’s eye,

And only hope that the end draws nigh.

But they are far from safe from the storm’s wrath,

For they soon will find that only part has passed by.


There is never a reason for the storm, nor

Is there ever an even score.

The storm passes by for only one thing,

It serves to destroy, and nothing more.

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