Eventually bruised skies heal…
but not before the storm arrives.
It starts off slowly, gathering
cotton ball clouds now dipped in ink.
Such ominous light belies that
eventually bruised skies heal.
Rain…pittering, then pattering,
soon pelting; jabbing like needles.
Bellows from otherworldly bowels
partner jagged bolts to announce,
eventually bruised skies heal.
A last gust exhausts its fury.
Shyly, sun peeks through shades of blue.
Clearing; a transformative arc
tied up in bows of the spectrum
…eventually bruised skies heal.
By Sarah ©2024
W3 Prompt #122:
Wea’ve Written Weekly
By Sarah 