The Storm

Pain.
Running,
frantic through the rain.
Must not stop of she will get me.
Clothes wet.
Mud and sweat soak me.
Cold and hot.
Legs stab down into soft ground.
I charge ahead,
look around.
Must not stop
running.

I push on.
The bridge is ahead,
dark and shiny.
Black water rushes.
Fast and deep, like an opium sleep.
Cold and wet.
Lightning flashes.
She is coming.
Time is gone!
Must go on.
Must go on.

The sky forms a ring,
a halo in the zenith's grasp.
All is calm for one brief breath.
She stabs a leg
into soft clay earth,
and jumps into the Volga's death.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.