Storm

Gathers a Storm, a Storm of the Anguished
Threatening thunder of the brooding Vanquished

Serene it is in my garden green
Between the lilacs and the roses,
	a mid spring dream

Of suckered women, and abandoned hivs
Of color dulled that downtrodden lives

In the glaring sunlight the cosmos drizzles
All our efforts at shelter frizzles

		O how God weeps
		Our sins she reaps

The compressed sky cracks and blasts
		Free at last!

©1993, John A. Mills