The Storm

There’s a storm coming.

He’s heard about the calm

Before the storm, but right now

Mental rage is provoking natural rage.

Neural spasms leave the taste

Of lightning on his tongue.

Racing thoughts plead

The rushing winds to fill their void.

His mind is disjoint, but outside

Vertical struggles with horizontal, too.

Mother Nature and son are unified

The same way mother and stepson are

A positive feedback loop

That is only negative.

Did he already live the calm?

Was it the screams of frothing mouths

Punctuated with the word, “home”?

Was it the moments in a mirror

Staring at a stranger whose eyes flood

With questions of not who but what?

It’s here.

A pile of dead timber

That supposedly gave him life.

It's here.

A cosmic heaving

That streaks clouds like charcoal

Across the sky,

But the trees are saying, “hush”.

He prays for one last moment of calm.

If he’s ever had one.

And he listens to the trees.

1 2

EDIT: This is my first attempt at writing a poem, so structure might be atrocious, and any feedback is welcome. That being said... it was fun.