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Reap the sanguine squall

He found a storm in a keyhole
as he tried
with muffled fingers to clutch
at a thing that would be

it was such a tiny thing
but hungrier for it
with its trailing, flailing arms
and weakly wailing words
just strong enough
to wrench a drop of rain
from a peeking eye

latched like starved lips
on fickle promises of love
it seeped through a glance
to a place of bitter salted soil

fertile ground for raising storms
that burst and bluster
and force their way into the world
as acid winds  
to raze tender furrows
and burn through bonds

his muted howl
the seed of a gale
Written by DystopianMelody
Published
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