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2 August, 2012

The devil

            under cover of darkness

shrieks the anguished humiliation of the outcast

Forever banished from grace

            he sweeps with rage

                        born of shame

            across the land

                        torments with sleeplessness and itch

                        harasses with ragged claws

                                    those who sought only the peace of slumber

Scratching at layers of soiled memory

            his fuming breath rips away decorum

                        freeing the id monsters to snap and growl at the loved

                                    even as he

                                                in furious vengeance

                                    shouts the protest of the persecuted

Too insubstantial for embrace

Too repugnant for forgiveness

            he blusters on

But those who survive rise in the dawn to find that his rage

                        as our own so often does

            has swept away the noisome, murky vapors of our own petulant greed

                        freed our eyes to see the glories we have soiled

                                    and given pause to consider those things which lie beyond

                                    our petty disappointments

(For those who do not live in southern California, Santa Ana winds develop in the desert.  As they come up over the mountains and roll downhill, they heat up by compression and the relative humidity is driven down, often to the single digits.  The result is powerful winds that are very dry and put nerves on edge.  The one benefit is that they blow polution out to sea and create surfers’ beloved off-shore winds.)


From → Stories & Poetry

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