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Besieged

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The wind roared, battering against the walls and clattering the window. Rain richocheted off the panes. More unfortunate drops splattered onto the glass, disintegrating into a watery death. The building was under seige from the elements. Inside, a roar eclipsed the noise of the wind, and the fist of Brother Septimus hammered on his desk. “WRITE!” Frozen fingers gripped the pen and resumed their scratching at the paper. More than a building was under siege.

Paragraph Planet, Nov 15, 2015

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Wrath

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Outwardly calm,
Your face a mask.
There is no clue
To the slow burn
Seething within.
And you speak –
Icily polite –
Words to freeze
The sun’s ray.
They do not see
The cold spark
That will ignite
The furnace blast
Flash fire
That will scorch the soft
Earth of friendship.

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