The Storm is Coming

It growls to tepid waters, Stroking pale fingers across the land. Though mouths cry, Mercy, It has none to give. Ravenous, Like a lion. Swift, Like an eel. Swelling within, Like a person. There are warnings We ignore.

Signs

We remain ignorant to. But no longer can anyone run, Because hiding spots are found, Because you can’t contain it anymore, Because it runs feral despite what walls you build. Boxes, you attempt to shove it into. People, you briefly burst upon. What relentlessly remains is not benignity, But danger. The storm is coming, Emerging from you, And when it erupts, You will leave nothing, No one, To surround you once more.

Writing by Sierra Gibbs, ‘26