Bluster and energetic,
Apoplexy,
Burn brightly in
The polity.
Mustered against.
The shore,
Signs and wonders,
Manifest.
The agreements.
Lie dormant.
Below the waves,
In situ.
And a cold, COLD wind,
Freezes the bones,
Of those waylaid by,
The Storm.
By W.N. Branson
