Three Word Prompt: f14 POETRY Student: Flow, Slow, Blow

A storm is coming. Hear the cold wind blow

What else approaches me with ill intent?

A fear is growing in me, fast, although

I cannot understand the fury's bent.

The fright builds quickly, but my mind is slow

To grasp its meaning, fighting through a haze

Of anxious guesses, vague complaints, and woe

And still the truth eludes me down the maze.

Like flurries, panic falls with steady flow

What can I do to extricate my chains

From this round, massive iron ball, and go

The opposite direction from the drains

That threaten to pull me directly down

Into a hell of loved one's endless frown?