Ahead
The problems of life are nothing but a storm
Gusts of wind swaying you back and forth
Raindrops pelting you, your shivering form
Flashes of light gleam, menace like a riot
Only to be accompanied by dark rumbling of quiet
But singing in this storm is what rids all this dread
Because while this storm spits at your back
That just means you're way ahead
This poem is about:
Me
Our world
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