The Tornado

Image of Poetry

You hear its massive pounding in your ears,
and perhaps you can smell its sweet air.
You sometimes witness its unique power.
A raw power unable to be quantified
or described, or fully understood.

You hear its beating heart
as it slams against your home,
tearing shrapnel off your roof
and off the sides of your house.


It is like a beating drum of wind
outside your protective walls,
preparing to destroy every little
thing above and around your head.
Every piece of multicolored furniture,
of the hardwood frames inside the drywall,
of steel and bronze nails and screws.
It prepares to destroy it all to dust.