Email Poem

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Poem

On a calm summer evening,
just minutes after four,
clouds wrap the horizon
with an head above it’s core.

An elderly store owner
observes from his door,
staring the dark mass
as its thunderheads soar.

He stares them in silence
as they soar from the west.
As stray clouds darken,
blending with the rest.

He’s suddenly growing fearful,
and wants to get away.
But the nearest town
is ten miles away.

Suddenly, a black funnel
stretches down to the ground.
It dances before him
with a roaring sound.

The wind bends the trees,
and leaves begin to soar.
It blows his hat off,
and rushes through the door.

So he runs back inside,
and stumbles to the floor,
as the large violent storm
shows its fury even more.

The old man gets up,
and dashes to the back,
as the wood around the door
begins to tear and crack.

He drops to the floor
and keeps his head down,
as the vicious cyclone
rips through the town.

The windows shatter quickly,
spraying glass in the air.
Debris is tossed around him,
falling everywhere. 

As the ferocious wind
passes the door,
its vacuum effect
yanks furniture from the store.

A few minutes later,
the storm moves away,
 on course to threaten
the next town’s day.

The wind begins to cease,
diminishing to a breeze.
So the old man gets up,
and rests upon his knees.

He rises slowly,
and creeps to the door,
stepping on glass
all over the floor.

After reaching the entrance, 
he looks out to his right, 
and spots the black funnel
soaring out of sight.

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