Natural Disaster

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The wind sweeping away the gray ashes of the pyre,
The fire burning what can produce no more,
The rain obliterating that which scores the Earth;
I see the acrid smoke, I let it burn my eyes;
I feel the heat, let it peel back the scars on my skin;
I hear the steady tears, I let them wash my footsteps into mud;
Let it be,
For it is easier to run than it is to cry.





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