Writers 
THE SHELTER
Across the Lowly Shelter.
The raindrops filter.
The thunderous strike of lightening.
Left a terrible awakening.
Soft chills run down the spine;
Of the Old Man’s Vine.
Across the Lowly Shelter.
While everyone run Helter Skelter.
The Old Man stayed glued.
His stance appeared crude.
He had nowhere to run to.
Except his humble Ghetto.
Across the lowly Shelter.
Where silence was the best scene.
And laughter hidden behind the pain.
It didn’t really matter;
If everything around was about to shatter.
The Old Man’s consolation was the peace within the shelter.
Across the Lowly Shelter.
Whirlwinds blew the sand across.
Gently all over the moss.
The Pale wood stood in defiant.
It's lustre long lost in compliant.
Every weather it has shouldered.
Was a memory it had bouldered.
Across the Lowly Shelter.
When darkness creeps at night.
And mornings hastenly alight.
The dry ink stains on the paper.
Mirrors the Old Man's life to a Taper.
Alas! The world will live to remember.
Across the Lowly Shelter.
Where words cut through the walls.
And the empty space voiced out a loud drawl.
Telling a Story of the Old Man’s Past.
Which remained buried underneath the Wood cast.
