Stormtramp Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

On stormy nights, in blind
visions I tell the crossing wind
the forgotten secrets of my heart.

But as the morning comes, slowly burning down
the comfortable churches of the mind,
I wander again, out into a sun-ashed street,
still whispering secrets in my jumbled days.

I whisper through my stumbling delays,
half-remembering the voices that I meet,
never knowing the faces of those that’ve been most kind
to me under the crooked shadows of the town.

I know that down the stormy passages of praise,
to this faltering ark of darkness,
somewhere the wind-tossed lightning is fluttering down
to my dark eyes…