• Thushanthi Ponweera

The Storm

Sitting in the middle,

listening to both sides,

I'm as far removed

from an objective judge

as one could be.

The tide ebbs and then swells

with the rising voices until they

fade away to blackness.

In the dark

I hear the

swish, swish

as the blood

races through

my veins

and the

drip, drip

of what's left

of my patience

draining from my body.

Don't do it.

Don't do it.

It's too late.

The thunder claps

and the skies open up.

The storm is unleashed.

They run for cover,

fear in their eyes.

With the silence

the sunlight breaks.

The clouds scuttle away as

quickly as they came

and I am left