when gray clouds entangle
the fingers of the Sun
and the wind is angered
separating the petals on flowers
the leaves on trees
birds stay perched on limbs
and critters take cover
a portentousness, amidst
my breath is shallow
the beat of my heart hastens
there’s a beading sweat on my brow
an angst derives in the silence
of my mind not by choice but by
obfuscation of morning’s quiet,
the day’s beginning
wherefore, does this come
what is this that offends my soul
that the universal spirit decries
in the dissonance of harmony
where even commonality is possible
in the flailing of chaos and an
odiousness evinces via an ominous face
i am, we are, witness to this at present by
an insidiousness of vitriol and vile hatred
having been enabled by the demons of
money and power, taking our hearts and
our souls into a cavern of dismay where
but a morsel of hope is left that somehow
all this will go away
helplessness, though, is not our makeup
this is when we turn up our music and sing
our songs, when we paint our pictures
and write our poetry and prose to garner
and feed our creativity and not let this
be taken from us for it is this, our
last vestige of armor, that will protect
us and defeat our foe
