Bread from the ground,
Yet you lash at my windows with your angry claws,
Ripping the joy from my heart.
In Cuba, your name is hurricane.
In China, you are typhoon.
In North Dakota, they call you blizzard.
You create, you destroy,
You go on and on,
Blind to good and evil.
And, even when you stop
And let in a little sun,
I can still hear you in my brain,
The endless leak that won't let me sleep
That drips despair in my empty room.
You course down my cheeks
Like cold, metal tears
To the bottom of the well of souls,
The damnation of the drowned.
Dec. 6, 2016