The Storm, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The Storm MunchThe Storm, Edvard Munch (1893)

The Storm

Oh the howl of the whirly wicked wind
Tormenting the tree roots at every turn
The cruel objective to tear them out
Like the tree I refuse to yield an inch

To confront face to face the angry storm
For with it comes all evil that was born
Will not let it destroy what I believe
While many others willing to concede

It is glowing white I wear on this night
Not to be a symbol of surrender
But a target for all evil to see
To fight to the death so I may live free

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Husband, Father, Grandfather, Lover of all beautiful things. I love to read and write poetry. My favorite hangouts are libraries and museums and yet I love being outdoors. I am a dreamer of things that could be.

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