Storm Clouds

Quiet, listen  to the silent cry, 

Burning tears roll down and dry. 

Hope now wounded, Liberty crushed, 

In shades of color is darkness brushed, 

Reason, entreaties seem of no avail, 

Nor wisdom or common sense prevail. 

The bone dry dirt, now wants a flood, 

Of the patriots' and the traitors' blood. 

Far and wide, across the land, 

Lines are drawn now in the sand, 

The choice now kneel or take a stand, 

The call to arms, is close at hand. 

Flashes of lightning and peal of thunder, 

The storm will render us all asunder, 

The first of raindrops on the head, 

Are warm to touch and colored red. 

The land is parched, a yearning thirst, 

The bow is arched, now who goes first?? 

Copyright (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2020 

All rights reserved