Through Windows – 8

The night was blurry: 
Sleeping on and off, 
Waking disoriented -- 
Not sure where I was, or why. 
Gas station thermometer 
Purchased earlier: 

Like a blaze 
Burning a city 
That seemed on fire, 
Dreaming hordes of invaders 
Were streaming through my doorway. 
In truth, the city 
Prepared for a storm 
Called Opal.

The storm passed 
While I finally 
Got some sleep

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

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