lucky brown

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The Storm Of Fears

Heavy tornadoes came whirling, mere in my backyard, Where my old cooking faggots lies, clouds swelling like that rotten coffins content, below the sky the moon did hide. In the dead of my night dreams, heavy trumpets sounds wings flapping Angels goldsteps on my old rusted roofs. A gust of winds flapped my wooden ironed wrinkling door and my roof banging its structure, I hide in prayer where my conscience plagued, for my impure sake i judge. A host came no near in fear of rapture, the morrows are the sabbaths to the church, i will battle in prayer for my impurity, but may the sermon beckon me not back to my sinful stare.

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