Looking For Tornadoes Poem by Eric Cockrell

some of us are born,
looking for tornadoes...
and spend our lives,
singed by lightning.
flying madly like moths
toward the flame that devours,
scarred by the beatings,
just living to feel...

loving the unspeakable,
touching the untouchable...
we smell like the disease,
while eating the cure.
driven by the need,
lost inside the wind.
but the flesh we eat
is none but our own!

set free by weeping,
we walk on the sea.
and roll away the stone,
knowing the tomb to be empty.
till with autumn eyes,
we bury the candle in a drawer.
have long conversations with spiders,
and sleep alone in the web.