The Tempest
By Angelina Z.
Staring out
Across the roaring sea of hills
The tufts of grass –
The sea foam,
Cresting upon the hills.
I glare in desperation –
The little house sneers
Impossible to reach,
As I stand
In the midst of the storm.
The tempest rages
But not here
Not yet
For it is above the clouds,
Over the hills,
Beyond the heaps of rock topped
with snow.
For it is about to crash
The tipping point
My brow furrows, expression darkens,
Like the illuminous clouds
Spiraling above me
In their surging tango.
One foot before me,
My deep, blood-colored cloak
Billows about my legs
I slip off my hat
‘Fore the winds dare snatch it skyward.
My grip falls slack
About the tome
Flaxen locks from my face are torn.
Bracelet skidding down my wrist
...I cannot decide where to go.
The house
It jeers
A fake salvation.
Averting my eyes,
I gather my skirts.
The collar cuts into my neck
As I fall.
I slide downwards,
Mud soiling my dress
Beneath the grassless hill.
The moss looks damp
Beneath my feet
As I walk,
Then crawl
Into the small crevice.
And watch
As leaves, then branches
Fly
Towards the house,
While I am safe.
Within the rabbit hole,
I dream
Of Wonderlands
While outside,
The cyclone roars.
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