A Gathering storm

Golden wasted time, frozen in the sand.
Crystallized from a moment with that lightening from above.
Wasting such moments, spinning my wheels around.
There is a gathering storm.
Where the wolves howl and lick at my door.
Itching to get in from the rain.
The hair on my skin rises, the moon tide retreats.
All clicking tongues talk of conditions.
Throwing opinions with such malice.
Static air lifts my eyes, allowing me to see the future.
Down the road less travelled by.
Out of the woods and out of the storm.
Cutting free from the roots and the dangling carrots.
Lest I fall once more to the ground, and drown in the rising waters.
Of the storm that comes whirling out from within.
Born of the idle choices of circumstance.
And the rushing clouds of ruination.

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