A poem describing an unpleasant event

Grey clouds loom overhead
Yet bring no rain
These clouds are dead
motivation only comes with strain.

A spark is lit
And tossed aside
The Tyrant’s fit
Leaves trees their fears confide

Their genocide spreads terror
Many days will never come
All the deaths a hopeless sum
None of their fates were fairer

Wooden shrieks of agony
Are heard from miles around
Look for hope but none be found
At this wretched travesty

The ashes are rife
The land is bare
Yet clouds come to life
Snowfall fills the air

Author: Kay Walker

I write short stories, and post them to my site

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