Softening Gelatin and Rolling Whales
The air is still;
No sound is heard save
The pecking of the feathered.
The atmosphere so thick as softening gelatin;
The air is still, still, chill.
Calm, a state delicious to ordinarily seek
Now filled with apprehension.
Faith cries “Do Not Be Afraid!”
One human experience cries fear, fear!
It is the still after and before the storm.
Rolling clouds like rolling whales form westward,
To rush and wash like a world war army brigade.
Bugs dig in their burrows;
Pets pace, crouch silently, staring.
It is the still after and before the storm.
Chain saws tirelessly sawing
The demise of history’s old trees.
It is the Ides of March, and
The skies repeat their seasonal wrath.
It is the still after and before the storm.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
