Another storm broods on a jagged horizon,
the seas a cutting edge in relief,
as wayward spite exacts its fight upon the waves,
and no gulls appear, the sky too menacing,
too dark to smear an intense countenance,
its frown so austere.
As lights flash, their sounds too far to hear,
just those blue voltage parasols
through clouds slowly near,
wholly venomous and insincere,
their fractured ways in rampant chase
across that sky veneer.
And faintly heard thunder
growls in a far distant complaint,
suddenly in earshot, its escalating fate
does send shudders as the shutters quake,
and the storm moves like a swirling dervish
a wild and untethered snake, hissing.
The wind now howls,
its pained voice like pleading mercy,
as salt and sand whipped up to sting,
as the storm begins its harsh commands,
its blustering will in icy chill retorts
does bring fear to a heart.
Escape inside, shutters locked and doors propped
as the gale steps up, battering wild intentions,
and the roof feels it will just take off
under all this frantic tension,
as rest I cannot, caught between
the eye of Mother’s will, her venting still our fear.
Bruised the land, each living thing,
under wild forces drowning stings and more,
as she pours down her desperate tears,
squalling night in day’s frontier,
black as tar a sky so tainted,
filled with flagrant hurt and feeling vented.
As windows rattle and wood does creak,
winds screaming through nooks and peaks,
as the storm rumbles in massive scale,
leaving baleful tears and broken trails
of those within its harm,
a storm to remind us who’s in charge.
Tony DeLorger © 2018
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