Intense it’s found in whirling winds,
cyclones hit to tear apart the structure.
Flinging splinters on the eaves,
rampage is forced upon the open wound.
Salt poured in and festering, malignant scars,
bolts slash across crooked angles without edges.
While bleeding eyes contain no justice,
for the weak of mind and spirit.
An onslaught of wicked rain soaks to the core.
Gripped tightly in its fist, furiously, pleading,
for it to come to an end.
While the child hides in the corner …
Red Wolf Journal Spring 2014, and a fresh start
2 years ago