A tornado, a multi-dimensional maelstrom of muck- leaving all it smashes in place but the pseudo-carnage fundamentally void of purpose where intent and focus dwelt before. Churning at core and periphery - consisting of hideously caustic wind, hot brutal mucuousy torrents of precipitation, glass-sharp shards of beautiful crystal - taking all in its path; ironically, it advances tentatively, yet leaving catatonic souls in its wake. As it parades through the streets of Hades, the essences it strips feeds it as lightning nourishes the destruction of sylvan splendor.

  Seeing its backside - its departure and with hope its dissapation, counting the minutes/hours/days it wove its path of malice, the smudged and weary survivor peeks from the battle zone, fearing the sun's spotlight and its revelation of the downtrodden, yet also within is the seed of recovery sprouting in this one's engaging "Hi, some weather we're having, huh?" to another torn innocent pushing their own way out of the debris.

Jul 7, 2007