Cyclone

    

 Cyclone

 A gentle rain on man descends

To swirl a cyclonic, tempestuous wind.

Inside its eye, a wise one said,

There is a calm that fuels the dread.

Mad tornado spinning out of control,

Any unsuspecting moment, creates a hole

That flings its edges from its middle rush,

Drowning, destroying all within its touch.

Few can escape its chaotic parts.

Those who try, suffer broken hearts,

As to the eye, 

They pray 

and cry,

"When will it all come to pass,

  What thou hast taught us from our past?

To surrender our lives to your will,"

To leave dread no hole it cannot fill.

For when the eye is prone to collapse,

It surrenders to the dread at last,

And all within 

                          Become whole again,

                                                                        As a gentle rain 

                                                                                                              calms 

                                                                                                                                a dying

                                                                                                                                                      wind.

~P.S. Colley

Author's Note:

This poem was written as a commentary on today's political climate.