I Woke up with the words of this poem whispering on my lips, It was a cold January morning within the pomegranate trees.
The storm had passed two days now.
There was a forecast of Screaming with chance of tears.
The Clouds had been Clumped together.
They had appeared compressed and so close that Less light reflected upon them.
what revealed to be a visible mass had in actuality divided and turned black, stricken with lightning.
In space there is Honor,
In honor lye's trust
In trust there can be an open communication.
