(Written for my little brother Eric, Feb. ’85, when I was 14).
As he cuddled softly in my arms like a helpless young fawn, I could feel his heart race with fear and see his fists clench with every boom in the sky.
The rain poured harshly against the windows, and the trees were brutally beaten by the wind. The leaves lay astray on the ground, leaving the trees bare, alone and ashamed.
The thunder booms and the sky brightly lit reveals an eerie grave of leaves. They fall close, so as to stay warm from the cold hand of the wind.
My brother lays heavy, yet his limp body is as peaceful and calm as a blue morning sky. His is safe, for it’s only a storm.
He wakes quickly and smiles but is still afraid of the howling wind as it makes its ghostly music through the treetops.
A squirrel is safe in its nest and no bird flies willingly tonight. It’s now calm in the house and the rain is letting up.
A hidden self portrait in a tar pit I do not want to explore further. Wind was making a big sound the tarp blowing off, I stand naked under the scortching sun. A classless pain rises fiercely I am careless
Spring time and rain blooming of flowers purple haze of a storm on the horizon gray is mixed above the cloudline memories of you and me becoming one as A Storm of Fire passion melting like fervent heat butterflies in
THE WHIRLING STORM OF EVIL From the dark recluse in my thatched mud hut I barricaded myself; with the palm of my hands pressing tightly against my ears, vainly trying to shut out the mournful tune of the dirge playing
She was so naïve roving the boat across the stream The flow so smooth and even – life looked a dream Seldom failed to thank, keeping it tidy, her lovely boat So steady and strong, like soul mate they were
One day you’ll only regret The people you never spoke with and met The places you never went And things you never did Then you’ll regret how much the fear controlled your actions What if, the constant question asked What
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