New poem

Unfair

It should be hailing.
These skies should not be so blue,
nor the air so sweetly heavy that it pulls laughter
from unaware children.
The winds should be ripping trees from the ground,
leaving broken roots exposed,
fierce swords from an earth gone hurtful
and rejoicing in its pain.
There should be no birdsong,
only the slashing hum of the cold hawk's
descending claws.
Tornados should be stalking,
and river waters rising to drown, to bury
everything that once was,
wants to, and still should be.

Copyright 2006.

poetry