Not all tornadoes

      rip and ravage wide swaths

      across grasslands, the flat prairies

      nor deep into the wet pungent air

      of old plantation country.

      No! No Joplin nor Tuscaloosa, here.

                       These drop

                         bomb-like

                         from the

                         turbulent

                          skies of

                          my mind,

                          dip down

                          randomly

                          here and

                         there and 

                          lay waste

                           to all I

                             have 

                             made

                           for my

                             self

                             over

                             the

                           years—

      those sturdy structures, carefully placed,

      laboriously raised across the landscape of my soul—

      my sanctuaries, my havens—

      the places where I go to know

      the peace of self acceptance.

      Gone now!

 

And when those turbulent skies have cleared,

      I stand amidst the rain and rubble

      and I look up and I find distant points of light

      that tell me where I am

      and I know, then,

      I will build again

      a place for myself.

 

- Bill Denham

 

http://www.fernwoodpress.com/2018/03/08/death-will-come/