The Tempest.

Promo X The Tempest Plain


The cruel, frigid wind wails.
The blizzard chills everyone who hears its howl
While vicious frozen shards stab them in the back
As they turn and run for shelter, for safety
From the dangers of the vicious storm.
There is no safe place to hide.
Even those who might escape the snow and ice
Could still freeze in such perilous conditions.
The cold is just as deadly as the weapons
Hurled in its tempestuous anger.
The assailment seems endless.
Only the intensity of the fury
Varies: moments of silence lure its victims
Into a false sense of hope for redemption
Before the moaning of the tempest resumes.
And then, at last, there is peace.
The frostbitten cheeks of Winter blow no more,
Her chapped lips, weary of woe, fall silent now,
And the world, white with her frozen tears, is still.
©2017 Joanne Van Leerdam


                   This poem and 50 others appear in The Passing Of The Night.

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