The Big Storm

Weather storms the night the wind whips, 

Floods to a standstill, rolling it back

Like stiff black canvas
Chipped with stars to the coal dark edge.

 

Weather storms the stump the bolt pocks,
Hammers with fire, knocks to a chip,

Or rivets its bole to smoking cracks.

 

Weather storms the road the tree splits,
Slaughters creatures in their burrows,
Batters down our barns and fences,
Scars the light with freezing rain,
Devours cattle, crops and houses,

Swallows hills or swells to bursting
Culverts, levees, pipes and drains.

 

Weather storms the broken grid,
Attacks the paralytic structure,
Multiplies the reign of lies,
Savages the poor and weary,
Drowns the people in their flight,
Drills the air with burning buildings,
Buries bridges deep in ice,
Obliterates the trees it kills
And hurtles drivers skidding
Into everlasting silence and the dark regard of night.

Kos Kostmayer

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