I hear thunder

Its roar shaking the valley

The birds scream

The beasts run terrified

The trees brace themselves

I sit, shaking in my tent

The rain leaks through the holes

Of unrealiable plastic

I’ve run out of batteries

On everything

The wind shakes the pegs free

The only thing grounding this tent

Is me



Author: Jack Bennett

Born and raised in Torquay, England. 22 years old. Teeming with thoughts that need an outlet, working a full time job at his local supermarket. Unfortunately born a poet, he will most likely suffer from this contradiction most of his life.

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