poet’s rage

oh if the anger of a man was like the storm un-bottled and left to dance and play among nature. If rage could colour the sky with lightning and a photograph taken with the click of thunder ..how men would trample the earth. In moments of intense frustration, if only hurricanes could be called upon by name..a dance with Katrina or Wilma it will be…and in the middle of it all, a poet will sit in a meadow writing the chain of events before they unfold. noah_arkenswagg


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