The purple sky waves it’s wild fingers
in direction of the storm.
Westward is where it goes
away from the dead it left behind
away from those alive standing tall
buried under the barren land
with roots like the mountains
breathing at night while the earth sleeps.
Its deep bellows grumble
leaving the dead entombed
no more in the hearts of those alive
while the purple descends as rain
and the rainbow is seen
without its bow lingering
in the timid skyline
before vanishing without a trace.
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