Shaped by Faymarie Morris

Moaning, like some long lost, tortured soul 
            the wind strained to be heard. Outside, inky blackness. 
               Shapeless, without form, stretching away into eternity. 
                No stars. No moon to light the night 
or show the way the way. 
                A muffled rustling 
              A muffled sound 
            was heard, 
             by frenzied flapping
                                         she peered 
Earlier, rain hammered on the roof then stopped. Silence, until 
the wind returned, like a hungry beast and battered the eaves. 
All night long it's pain was heard and sleep denied. 
Fingers of light stretched through the gloom
before shuffling off, towards morning. 
Formlessness was gone and with it,
fear. Trees buckled by the wind
and snow stood firm in daylight. 
Venturing outside, what she'd 
thought was a blackbird with
 wings trapped, had been 
ugly black plastic.
 Her  relief soon 
turned into 
                               anger                                                                                into anger.
The wind strained to be heard, then, like some long lost, 
tortured soul, it moaned.

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