• Storm

    29 Dec 2008 /  Poetry

    The wind ripped down my roof tonight.
    It yelled and screamed until
    the windows exploded
    and I cried.

    I cried like I was shaken by the wind,
    like god withdrew;
    the devil killed my sons.
    And though I am not Job, I am not
    left alone to tell you
    anything except . . .

    I am not going to make it.
    The bricks falling through the chimney hole
    make that clear in the clouds of ash
    they raise.
    I am
    not going
    to make it.

    The only sanctuary now
    is to walk into the open
    darkness,
    far from splintered roofs
    and falling bricks.

    If I am chaff,
    I bid you all
    goodbye.

    Posted by Scott @ 9:35 pm

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