When the dark colors are painted on the sky,
and the tree barks,
are broken into pieces,
the cries of the nightlight,
just piers to their bare nude eyes,
they kick, scream and cry.

The winds,
start storming up the mountain creek,
as the water floods,
throughout the stream house,
scanning the rooms,
until the whole home,
is about to be erased.

She cries in my arms,
as no hesitation,
comes to my mind,
my time is over and shall is hers.

The water piers over my head,
and then it was set to me,
that me and my child were going to die tonight,
but not as a person,
but as a survivor.

No screaming, no running,
away from an issue that we cannot run,
for staying in as the problem got worse,
we are the true survivors,
of the storm Sandy.