The Raging Storm

A scavenger fails to thrive 
in upward mobility. 
The emotion becomes a virtual, 
collects all the garbage 
and becomes negative. 

There are only varied questions 
of different shades, and 
no appropriate answer. 

A fantasy remonstrates with the diminutive moon. 

Stone pelting becomes a daily 
ritual with the song. There 
was no music in the language. 

Scarves were few. And it 
was very cold― 
out in the chilled dark.