Astraphobia
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Max Murphy, Grade 7
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Poetry
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2021
The sky is clear, no sight of a cloud,
But a storm is coming, nice and proud
I wait beneath the silver moon,
Here within my darkened room,
whistling winds slowly approach
Bringing clouds gracefully as a coach,
Darkness blanketed the moonlit sky,
No sound could be heard, not even a cry
Clouds hurled their silver spears,
With raindrops falling, dreary as tears,
Thunder boomed and broke the quiet
Hear I lay under this riot
Rivers of water run down my face
Over my cheeks as if in a race
I curl up in a ball in extreme fear
I reach out for you but you aren’t here