On The Edge of the Storm

1 minute read

The storm brews afar in the sea
We can’t run and we know it
You’re worried, or so you say
And look into my eyes searching for answers
I am no library — I illustrate no dances
That would soothe the wind god
Or potions that can make you fly
So we would not have to breathe
The dust of our ruined house
No, I have no method to save our cattle
The shepherd dogs all ran away
They know when to abandon a lost cause
Nor is there an oracle, or a wise neighbour lady
No champion from a prophesy
To come and save us
With art, tricks or bravery
You look at me again, this time
With cold understanding in your eyes
There is no running
The winds will take our home
The water will take our cattle
And in that fluidic graveyard
Our bodies will lie neck deep
But as long as you want to draw breath
After the storm has come and gone
I will laugh in the face of death
And spit at the feet of the wind god.

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