After the Storm.
After the storm learned another name,
silence moved in like a careful tenant.
Walls remembered heat, not blame,
and the roof practiced patience with the sky.
Footsteps faded into a language of dust,
leaving rooms to relearn echo,
leaving light to choose its angles.
Morning arrived without witnesses,
carrying bread-smell and small mercies.
The cup, once accused, held water steady,
its crack a map, not a fault.
Windows opened their throats to birds,
and the house discovered a pulse
that did not ask permission.
Stories continued elsewhere, sharpening mirrors,
but the river kept its grammar simple.
Current over stone, truth over time,
no footnote for reflection.
Even the fire forgot the match,
warming hands that stayed,
teaching ash how to rest.
Now the shelter grows moss and memory,
a green insistence against ruin.
Clouds pass without rehearsal,
rain signs its name and leaves.
What remains is the craft of standing,
learning weather without becoming it,
and letting roofs be roofs again.
©Bunguswa™
A nice sequel. I love the zeal. Keep art shinning profππ₯π₯
ReplyDeleteπ thanks
DeleteWell done π
ReplyDeleteThanks
Deleteππππ
ReplyDeleteThanks
DeleteKeep the fire burning prof
ReplyDeleteThanks
DeleteAfter the Storm is a poem about what survives once noise leaves the room. It is less concerned with who was right and more invested in what remains—quiet, structure, and the slow dignity of healing. The imagery moves deliberately from rupture to renewal, suggesting that growth is not dramatic but faithful. This piece insists that peace is not an escape from pain, but proof that pain did not win. Nice one prof
ReplyDeleteThanks
DeleteNice pieceπ
ReplyDeleteThanks
DeleteWow keep going Brian
ReplyDeleteThanks Liz. Humbled I amπ
DeleteI love the imagery. The symbolism used reflects the immediate society, yet so deep to literary engage you. Cool one prof
ReplyDeleteThanks
DeleteA literary assassin..... A master of imagery and thought-provoking lines. Good!
ReplyDeleteThanks
Delete