storm

Once, upon a furiously biting chill, was a vanishing man, desperate

To battle through stubborn barriers, that encapsulated his struggle,

For not a single ounce of gain, could this stranded soul grasp,

Huddled, into the soft dark, forced, to witness the fury of the storm,

As it was the night’s eye, peering down, upon his heavily draining

State of weary, and unrest, fading any inkling of ease,

Sunken deeper, into his velvet plush web, trapped in horror

With the panic, of his very own distress, he embraces a Neverending night,

Which finds it’s perch, upon his sil, tapping ever so gently

Upon the fidgeting glass, that can barely keep the rage contained,

Tap tap, tap tap – unnerving, as each tap was burrowing into his scalp,

Incessant beckoning for his attention, from those quick jabs

By a devil bird, dressed in shadows, but still discernable,

Splintering the glass, letting in a low clash of howling winds,

He tightly clasps his eye lids shut, as the tapping continues, loudly echoes

In his very own outstretched halls, with the cannonade, inching closer,

Becoming a deep thud, rippling into a shallow resonance,

Narrowing in, struggling to pacify his now erratic breathing,

As if his chest was going to cave in, and leave his heart, under the rubble,

To escape it, he ventures out into the maddening stir,

Shouting, “No winged beast can follow me through this void!”

Not realizing, his sanctioned place, his very own stoop,

Giving him a lack of distance, from the tapping persistence,

As the “winged beast”, stalked, upon the man’s obvious misery,

Suddenly, sees his retreat back in, hearing his wrestle,

Bursting in through the door, startling his unwelcome visitor,

Now hovering, vigorously flapping it’s wings, fighting against storm,

And finally, the fated shatter of the window, allowing in his guest,

In, with a flying frenzy, zipping around, knocking over sanity,

He reached for his fading, yet slightly lasting grip of the dissolve, to peg

This creature, with those fallen parts from the decomposition

And then, by the powers of Willow, the bird, metamorphoses 

Into a Sphynx, standing tall, with such a look of distain

But then rubs her head upon his shivering torment,

And as unpredictable as all felines are, it goes for a chomp

Upon his apprehensive status, and avoids insult to injury,

“Such a rude visitor.” He gruffed, reaching for the bits of leftovers,

As it echoes in speech, crashing hard against the silence,

“And you, are a rude host, as you should be honored at my arrival,

For with this open canvas available to me, I planned my perch here.”

Puzzled, he chose to ignore this nuisance, but would it dissipate,

To dwindle past his recognition, and stay stranded,

Would it’s “gracious” presence, even allow to be treated as such,

He wondered over to the shattered open window, searched

The pale night sky, for exactly what, wasn’t obvious,

But it pierced the brick that stood firmly, and into his dominion,

A bolt of lightning, with Satori, swinging into his lucid consciousness.

“What possess a man, to sentence himself to death row

From the strangling comfort, of his sofa, and tying his own noose,

While he writes his memoirs in dust, to erase, in the forthcoming breeze,

There must be purpose, cause, for my rapid breath.”

Softly spoken, yet loud at the very same time,

“You’ve shed the clouds, that have been attached to Achilles,

And now your purpose, in hibernation within, can resume,

Just make sure to leave that window ajar, for I may return.”

And as quickly as it came, it vanished into the gray,

That now displays cracks, of vibrant blue, highlighting the mundane

And ascending beyond the pale, bringing forth, a new day.