at a blasting storm // poetry and clouds

It’s not poetry Tuesday, but here’s some poetry nonetheless.

The themes of anticipation, anxiety, awe, hope, and beauty have been heavy on my mind the past few days. While Pennsylvania spoils me for rocks, trees, and creeks, I feel a quiet longing for the sea during these crazy times. There’s just something special about great pillars of clouds on the horizon. That’s why I wrote this poem.

One by one, the cords are cut
As gulls wheel overhead
A screeching cloud suspended within
Cathedralic emptiness: the vaulted sky
Looms so tall with pillars made of storms
And on our breath is the smallest prayer
Of hope, quiet and worn

The seasons come, we with them
Bend, forgetting what we knew–
Friends and lovers, the haunted hills
And idylls of our youth

Do you measure life, so dear,
So heavy, this burden few
Well bear? Your fear is strong,
And so grows your own
Unfurling ferocity: a cry
Against the setting sun
As in time we float and fall.

Morality was never your
Proclivity; you lived for
The setting sun, the flying
Colors and impracticalities
Of moments gone, never won.

The cyclicity, the endless rush,
The duplicity of the everyday
Never appealed to you so much
As a fire burning in the sky
And gulls screaming
At a blasting storm

–Emily Lynn Cook

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