Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Fast and slow, faster than the wind,
This gale upsets the laughter of my soul.
The winds upset this smaller joy,
And continue to beleaguer my sons and daughters.
They run in the rainy storm like children,
But turn older through the seasons
Only to become monsters of the death.
The storm shall rage on, saving nobody
Like me or my children,
The storm then turns into a tornado
And swallows my wife and my children
And everything has disappeared.
The winds speak such death,
But I survive to tell of the tale.