Rainbows reflect on still water amid
greasy run off from spilt oil.
Scattered branches, ripped from tree limbs
find themselves longing for home.
The eerie quiet whispers in the space between nightmares and lucidity;
though there’s comfort to be found in the Swallow’s song.
Deep, earthy smells exhumed by the recent gale permeate the air.
He lies confidently in the predawn darkness,
while she creeps about, the dust swirling at her feet.
She dares not make a sound.
Dew drops cling to a single blade of grass,
reflective and peaceful as the sun now shines.
Shards of glass and splintered wood litter the bedchamber,
reminiscent of nature’s tantrum.
The storm has passed,
yet something powerful brews inside her.
-S. Hall
Author: Shannon H
Email: [email protected]
Author Bio: Shannon Hall: Wayward Writer. Accidental Poet. Manager of three tiny beings, Shannon can be found shuttling her three boys to Taekwondo and answering the question “why” fifty-eleven times.
Through her writing, Shannon aims to advocate for and uplift women by promoting the importance of mental wellness. Shannon’s work can be found in “Virtuous, Victorious and Valued” Magazine and on HerStory blog.
Link to social media or website: Instagram @kasper923
