Powerful forces reign over our world
some forces are evil, but some good
they have a power beyond our lives
if you could strip them bare as nude
Then maybe their power would defuse
but here you have wind and rain
two great forces, when combined so lethal
that they cause trouble to leave a stain
Last evening, lying sleepless until early morn
these two were shouting in full voice
makes one ponder to think so vivid
can cause much damage, like broken joists
In the small hours, listening so clearly
within the whistling wind in tune
joining rain's wetness running down outside
devastation ruling brings so much ruin
These powerful forces are beyond us
reigning outwith our feeble frames
be sure never to forget their venom
catching like wildfire into full flames
We’re taking down an old and rotting barn;
perhaps “garage” might be a better term.
Blue metal siding, faded long ago,
has not come easy; this I can confirm.
The timbers, cut when measurements were real,
provide a clue to estimates of age.
The wood is likely oak, extremely rough;
the cost in today’s terms is hard to gauge.
Another building will replace this one;
I’m not sure it will stand the test of time,
but this one’s days are definitely done.
I would replace it too, if it were mine.
The metal roof came off, all rusted out;
The joists and rafters, all that now remain.
I’ll hit it hard tomorrow with no doubt
the effort will be worth the aches and pains.
A spark erupts, setting alight a formidable flame.
Casting ascending vivid flickers of amber gleaming.
Ignited fervor, unbeknownst from whence it came.
The ominous blaze glares through the windows beaming.
A thunderous crackle incites a violent burn.
Engaged by inferno, timber joists integrity weakens.
As smoke engulfs the structural core in turn.
Roaring fevered holocaust ensues the blight it beacons.
Heroic sirens wail in desperation, hastily traversing town.
To cease the fiery devastation, cast upon the vastly disintegrating abode.
With forceful halt upon arrival, a bursting hose aimed toward the chateau's fallen crown.
Blasts of saturation work to snuff the flames encapsulating trusses, frame, and lode.
Now left with smoldering embers, a result of amnesic mistake.
A forgotten glowing candle, leaving destruction in its wake.
From a distance,
the incessant chant of monsoon from south west,
sounds like an old witch practicing her craft,
Turning the sleeping dark cloud to a wandering gale,
On its arrival must the sun lose its seeming joy,
As she roars as a warrior in great toil,
And the blue sky covers it face with dark veil,
To hide from the shame of its impending tears,
The sparkling effect of the raging charges,
Brings a fearful sight of great lightening,
A wonder of the mighty mother nature,
Throwing a tantrum to some of its weak creatures,
As the sky's long-held tears begin to flow,
The earth has no option than to open wide her mouth,
As seedlings prepare their minds to grow,
And plants celebrate the cold shower as they sprout,
The temperature drops in honor of the great monsoon,
The cold air spews through the joists of the poor as it blows,
The sheltered rich rejoice in sleeping comfort,
Yet it means a great mare to the homeless vagabonds,
The incessant chant of monsoon from the South West,
The witchcraft of good and evil to the biosphere,
A sign of hope for the long waited winter,
But painful end to the summer's joy
No the world is not for me.
it's for suburban hitlers
who indulge in protocol wars
and middle class wives
in camaro jeeps.
No the world is not for me
but for trendy young things
and stylish hipsters.
it's for politicians,
who will caress your prejudices into a vote.
or for doctors with dollar sign ethics
and wallet surgeons who sign insurance plans.
or those sad soldiers that fall to their knees before a flag,
who believe killing strangers abroad will set us free.
No the world is not for me.
who shouldn't be let near paper or pen,
not with these grubby hands
and beerbelly eyes.
that spend their days
laying cement and nailing joists
and trying to quench an unstoppable thirst.