THE TEMPEST
In support of
Kelly and Addy’s Tornado disaster fund
View Support Registry
Kelly and Addy’s Tornado disaster fund
THE TEMPEST
Of mangled metal and broken limb, shattered glass strangles the desolate.
There is no breath.
The old souls snapped in two are looking to the sky one last time.
The grating sound of chain speaks their end.
Battered walls once warm with light give way to naked wood weeping for the shelter it once knew.
Soft spaces meant for gentle times cry out against the night.
A memory lays next to the street yearning to be kept.
There is no summer here. No rest here. No comfort.
The sunlight mocks the anguish of this place.
No limbs rustle in the wind and their feathered flocks mourn in silent solidarity.
Your own feeble voice sounds foreign in this hollow space.
You are unholy in this place.
And so you must go home.
But you must go home to The Tempest.
Of mangled metal and broken limb, shattered glass strangles the desolate.
There is no breath.
The old souls snapped in two are looking to the sky one last time.
The grating sound of chain speaks their end.
Battered walls once warm with light give way to naked wood weeping for the shelter it once knew.
Soft spaces meant for gentle times cry out against the night.
A memory lays next to the street yearning to be kept.
There is no summer here. No rest here. No comfort.
The sunlight mocks the anguish of this place.
No limbs rustle in the wind and their feathered flocks mourn in silent solidarity.
Your own feeble voice sounds foreign in this hollow space.
You are unholy in this place.
And so you must go home.
But you must go home to The Tempest.
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