A Fickle Mind Poem by Lauren Cunningham

The traveling wind,
speeding in my direction,
Forcing me to stumble in my path,
I feel weak,
Insignificant, to Nature's awsome Wrath.

'This Way! ' His powerful voice,
Ordering me to follow his footsteps!
I feel betrayed,
Abused
By a man.
Of whom does not deserve that title!

An army of Hailstones come crashing from the sky
Battering me,
Bruising my pathetic, fragile body,
But my pale withering flesh is numb,
And I don't feel a thing.

'Are you comin' woman? '
That Rotting Wart,
On the skin of my life,
That agonising, terrorising client,
Of Lucifer's futile practise.

I close my eyes,
Try my best to stand steady,
'Aye, ' I think,
'I'm coming, just as soon as...'

The storm now is in full chorus;
The hailstones twisting and twirling in dance,
accompanied by the rythm of my chittering teeth.

He is bawling,
Loudly, again.
But, I ignore,
I cannot REALLY hear him,
I see no need to trouble my self, again,
I could not REALLY see him,
And now, since I feel no need,
For company, companionship,
He is gone,
Lost in his creator,
Lost in my mind.