The Eye Of The Storm

• Rhianna Miles, Grade 12
• Poetry
• 2013

Dark clouds grow, billowing like waves in the sky;
the world pales to shades of greys and blues.
The thunder rolls, the groan of a sleeping world;
sleeping weeping, waiting for the tears to drain.
The cold penetrates the dreams of eyes that see silhouettes of hope evaporate in wisps like the steam that rises from cold, clammy fireplaces. Fallen ashes. Charcoal.
The heavens burst, igniting like flashes of a camera;
the world is captured in a moment of brightest white,
a panorama from above.
Rains fall like a shutter, exposing the negatives once more.
A steeple rises, reaching up like hands in an orchard;
tears splatter on the ancient tiles of the roof.
The bell tolls, the apple of a weeping eye; sleeping,
weeping, waiting for the fears to wane.
Shivering figures turn dreary perceptions towards the gateway's view,
the night outside framed by arching stone and draped with memories. New soil. Roots.