Hailstorm.
A Poem.
Mar 7, 2022
Hailstorm.
She never wished war.
She had heard it all before.
Guns blaze: she ducks, and she curls in a ball.
This is exactly what she warns, as she falls.
She falls.
Night calls.
Dreams don’t come often —
When they do,
they come true…
and they’re awful ending in a coffin.
AELIZABETHMIND
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©️️2018 — 2024 AElizabethMind ®™️
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Poetry
- This poem is also part of a piece from a song I’ve written.
