Wild ripping wind, roaring wicked beast;
planet born of sin, sacrificial feast,
nature’s catastrophic rage unleashed.
Trees and homes and stop signs crumble like brittle little twigs.
Mercy? No hope this storm brings…
fearsome force unfurled,
my God, my God, it’s the end of the world!
And just as fast
the tempest passed;
bloody, broken, every breath a slice of screeching pain;
as she cringed in the corner, no love remained.
He was sorry, said he’d never do it again…
– K Poleet
“Are not our lives too short for that full utterance which through all our stammerings is of course our only and abiding intention?” ― Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim