The Flood

In that fateful midnight hour,
The dam cracks slowly, inexorably,
And dies the only flower,
That can prevent the catastrophe,
The rusty bronze bells toll to no avail

Rumbles and churns the thing behind,
the dam which should never be allowed,
To see the light of day, it has to be confined,
It senses the freedom, and it screams aloud,
Panicked eyes shift rapidly, hiding behind a veil.

The rumbling reaches its crescendo,
The dam gives in, buckles, and crushes,
The Flood roars in all its splendor,
And breathes in the air, heavy with coppery tang and ashes,
And the horror of the frail.

Eyes open in terror,
A scream is swept away in the rumble,
Another, and another, and another,
Where the flood treads everything else crumbles,
All that’s left is a memory dark and stale.

Photo by terimakasih0

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