A Gathering Storm ~ out of rain ~

‘Tis gathering storm

Of man said human,

Rendered deformed

By duplicitous demon,

Though given be life

As a privileged plus,

Man soon found ways

To turn planet to dust,

Where child eventual

May survive only just,

Thus so but the telling

He’d bow to fate’s say,

Fixed by man’s doing

In orchestrated play,

Distorting life journey

In a world gone astray,

Held to flee or to stand

On a predestined bane,

Of his narcissistic plan

In a gathering storm,

That has run out of rain!

                                                       begs find contradiction in time…!

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“ Astray ” ~ in pro tem way ~

 

Without I stray

From held entomb,

Said salutary stay,

I can but seek

Echoes of roam,

Thus to attempt

A nomad bent,

Steers me astray

In pro tem way,

Till time runs out

Of freed to roam!