The Sighting - BOTH Audio and Text - w-Illustration
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Listen to poem:
The morning sun would slowly disappear that April morn, as dark and boiling thunderclouds would ebonize the sky.
The blackened wall was pulsing deep inside with lightning strikes, while muffled bursts of thunder shook the earth as it drew nigh.
This was unpredicted. We were told there would be rain, but no one was expecting something more than getting wet.
And I remember noticing how birds had fled the scene. They knew the implications of a sky as black as jet.
The stillness was unnerving, like a distant forest fire, while rendering devastation, you…at most…might feel the warm.
Our destiny…uncertain…though now close enough to feel, came churning through the darkness on the cold, impartial storm.
Weaving with indifference, we could see the monster’s tail, whipping side to side, at random, reaching for its prey,
Ripping, with impunity, the trees and barns and homes from off the land they clung to in its cold remorseless way.
Terrified, we stood there, unprepared for what we saw, with no degree of certainty that we would be immune.
We watched the deadly funnel wield its wrath upon the earth, and wept to see the carnage as it left the land in ruin.
Hardly more than half a mile from where we stood and stared, the bits of roofs and splintered walls from homes and barns arose,
As, passing through, the deadly fiend, that visits unannounced - and gives no explanation for the victims that it chose -
Left a wake of shattered dreams and badly broken hearts. And in the quiet aftermath, each family that survives Searches for the strength they’ll need to salvage what remains, and start again, with what is left, to resurrect their lives.
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Copyright © Mark Stellinga | Year Posted 2021
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