The sky darkens
Blue to charcoal grey.

Density mounts the dimness.
Along the ridges
It hovers in rank

Waiting, listening, preparing,
For the orders to come.

Then, in the
Moment least expected,
The rain begins to fall.

From the heights
The dreary sky
Showers shells
Upon the earth.

The civilians run for cover.
Deep in their bunkers
They hide, hoping
To outlast the storm.

The war is pressing,
The battle is raging.

Against the mid-day grey
The translucent flare
And explosions light the sky.

Trenches burrow through
The dirt and streams
Begin to rise.

Water falls,
As steady as
It started

And then,
As quickly as
It began

The rains subside,
The skies brighten.

Droplets drip from
Newfound leaves
And journey to the ground.

The war has ended,
The battle is over.

© Jeremiah Dowling 2013

* This poem is the 2nd in a series called ‘Vega’, a writing project about the 4 seasons * 



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About Jeremiah Dowling

I write poetry and take crazy pictures in an Orange Chair all over the United States while reading amazing books.

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