storm

relentless: she's a hurricane

certain she doesn't know,

though certainty does little when chaos blots out reason

in the center she's a sage,

but when she spins the rage destroys

left in the trail, trailing behind 

stomp in the puddles, splash in the mud

delight in the mess one day, 

another drown

silver linings on zero clouds--just the white, fluffy, distant stuff

(sometimes grey)

(then again, usually grey)

(and white is just grey's dream for betterment)

losing the sun, forgetting its warmth, forgotten light in this labyrinth of dust

settling dirt into pores of tired skin, weathered hands, and leaden legs

disjointed thoughts trickling from the eye of rationality

connecting the dots of hail pouring from tear-tired eyes

racing through ash, apathy begging to conquer

resentment's hold on the flailing statue,

bending to the wind,

crumbling in the dark,

crumbled already--

scattered particles

lying comfortably on the aftermath, on yesterday's grave

too weary to fathom "tomorrow",

afraid to go to sleep