Just moments after the eye stops staring insatiably at us You can hear the flicking on of all those machines As you walk down the flooded streets so slow The violinists pull the strings, and on they go One to the left of us, three to the right Two in front of us, and none to the behind
The conductors swing their arms The symphony clangs, alarms Lighting up the homes and the tv screens Chilling the musicians, and the shaky beams Walk around some more, you'll hear one hit a low C While you slosh through the street's home sea
if anyone cares, I haven't been posting here because I haven't been writing. I've only been experiencing. Specifically, I've been experiencing Hurricane Irma and the aftermath thereof. This is a poem about that aftermath. I hope you enjoy it.
He was either a Captain or Tory to lead river by Alamo where want toiled much and delay soiled so much together unfortunately his somber face many that Hasici died and San Antonio implored diocese while Serra's Chapel also became an acorn for fruit and burial for Franciscan outward envy of mission for peace.
Serra's Chapel refers to early mission by the same name in in Orange County in California
The blue of the sky dips sharply to meet the ocean, a panoramic view broken only by Vesuvius puncturing the horizon. It rises a thousand feet deadly in it's beauty; it stands for all to wonder. Proud and powerful, yet unconcerned it sleeps; daring to be woken