I made this poem when the wind was howling outside and thought why not.

Lone Primal

How much anguish do you hold in your howling eye? Soundless. Shredding. Fierce. Even the mistral's lamentation seems like a gentle song compared to your gaze.

Your lone figure trembles. It is as if the weight of the land has encumbered you. Strangled you in an earthen gaol. Dark. Desperate. Echo.

Your roars hot and searing like a dessert wind. The infernal chains that bounds you to the past. Absolute. Unforgiving. Relentless. Even the fires in the bowls of embers seems cool.

You march on thorns. Passing judgment abreast the ire of gods. Grief. Frustration. Hope. Like a lone dancer in the amphitheater.

Doused fear propels the whorl of time forward. Drowned whispers of a single prayer. Salvation. Future. Regret. All coiled into one final turn of redemption.

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