Non-Erotic PoetryStormStark clouds of wrath
threaten me with anger.
The seething,
screeching wind of discontent,
malevolent.
A solitary magpie wheels up high.
Black and white portent
of ill luck.
Too late.
Icy shards of rain
fall from the slate grey sky.
Heavenly retribution
for my dark sin,
hidden within
a padlocked room in my soul.
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