A Storm Is Coming

A Poem by Eva Rosehill

For my father who protected me from the storm..

"A storm is coming." My father whispers solemnly

As skies darken, veiling the sunlight as she mourns for summer

Autumn traces its inked quill across gaping skies

Etching somber markings concealed within ashen clouds

Heavy with the weight of bitter tears, they drift, forlorn

The wind howls through absent streets, words of lament

Babbling incoherent warnings, demanding to be heard

Skies first tears fall, streaming down fogged window panes

At first a faint mutter unheard, like birds upon rooftops

Until the heavens unfold, an uproar, rain soaks pavements with chaos

Trailing down cold glass, it blurs the dreary scene behind

I grip onto my fathers hand, papery and creased like the russet leaves

As light tears through the sky, illuminating the empty room

And my fathers face, as he smiles and murmurs

"We all have a storm within us too, we must not fear them."