Soul Storm

As the dirt layered streets of all mans toil, are gently swept by rain.

And all earths masses huddle under awnings, wishing the storm would wane.

A solitary man walks down the street, seemingly unaware.

Seeing the people huddled in masses, wanting to laugh does he dare?

The future of man, he asks with a smile, is that what your worried about?

The future is clear for those who believe, nonexistent for those who doubt.


By Metria R. Jones

Around 1968

Next     Home