Whirlwind | Early Poems Poem by Ana Maria Alma Delafuente

It is a whirlwind;
Sucking, grey, ferocious.
Emotions fly wildly
Like the long tresses of my brown head outside in a hurricane.

As the eye of the storm brings miles of deceptive quiet,
So the silent blanket of agony descends.
It lingers and wastes me.

Night crawls into my being.

My mouth
My ears
My eyes
Lie blank and gaping.

I die.

Then, quite suddenly, quite easily, up picks the wind again,
Wailing me this way and that.
I wake from dour slumber to furious peril.

Frailty has no friend within its boundaries.

When finally the tempest grows weary,
It abandons me, a vagabond,
And leaves me in the daze of folly.