Forecast
Storm clouds of words
Building, jumbling, growing dark and swirly,
Only to stay aloft, or vanish with the heat.
Unable to spill out of my mind.
The drought continues.
A sprinkle or two bring hope for relief.
Maybe today I can speak my heart.
2 thoughts on "Forecast"
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Well stated.
Like this metaphor! And you did write a poem after all.