Storm

Calamitous whirlwind

Fierce winds attacking all that I love

Blown from a place of entitled resentment

Of fear and obsession

Of unwillingness or inability to adapt.

Catastrophic passage of time

Rapid unchangeable, unchanging

And yet unforeseen sequences

With consequences that rip souls apart

Debris covers all things

Nothing is spared.

The absolute absence of compassion

Superfluity of useless or poisonous words

Of malevolent thoughts

And ultimately nothing of any value remains:

Implosion.

We paint it with gold

With promise, desire and anticipation

Paint is no preservative

To avoid the rotting underneath.

Rot cannot be reversed

Nothing fresh springs forth anew

It can only aid something else, something more deserving

It’s time will come.

(Also published on https://essexwriterscircle.wordpress.com. I am the author of this work.)