A Metaphorical Cinquain series
The wind
swept down and in,
swirled like smoke above us,
swiftly rushed upon us, and brought -
silence
Silence
enclosed our home,
standing there before us,
its roof bare gray, its columns black -
soundless
Soundless,
but certain, sure
stripped of all false…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to A Poet's Journey to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.