Will The Storm Ever Pass

by Graham Cunningham

Will the storm ever pass
and will this one be the last?
Will my becalmed and tethered mind
remember the debris flying past?
I wished that I was of the earth
compatible with green growth
not expelling water and air
I wished that I was not a fire.
That I could be earthly bound,
my words be made of clay
and falling rain would sooth their sound.
Who am I talking to anyway?
I dreamed I was a fertile thing
in some glad primaeval dawn.
A rolling field primed to bring
forth gently waving ears of corn.
Not this gale of words; too loud
to catch the flow of what they say.
Who are they talking to anyway?

Graham Cunningham is a writer, mainly of essays and articles but also of poems and songs.

Last updated November 21, 2021