Thunderous Rasp of Breath (a poem)

Dark Night, cold Breeze
From the circling fan above.
There is no sound,
Yet that of thunderstorms.
Pressure on my feet
And slight movement all around.
However life seems still,
When the thunderous rasp of breath
Is not to my right.
Sheep and stars do not help,
The darkness only reminds me I am alone.

(Photo by Ryan Phillips on Unsplash)


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