Cloudburst

Before the cloudburst,
Those aromas of earth in the air,
Are my memories,
Of my mother and father,
Of my brothers and sisters,
And my own mortality.
Those odors of dirt are the flowers,
That spring from the seeds,
Buried within the amniotic glaze,
Of my cloudy, misshapen mind.

Before the cloudburst,
The fragrance of you lingers in the air,
Your spirit persists on the breeze,
And your voice seeps,
Through from the rumbles in the sky,
Like the blood of soldiers,
Having discovered their own sins.
It is this resistence to change,
This essence of my beings,
That keep me grounded,
Never to fly where the winds,
Bring in new smells,
And forever losing the old ones.

After the cloudburst,
The stench of newness and sparkles,
Do not mask the tragedy of forget,
Nor does it obscure pain of rememberance,
But the piney whiffs of insolence,
Snap the mind like twigs on a trail,
And cradle me in their arms,
For it is their earthy arms,
That are my crib,
My womb, warm and soft,
Sweet and prickly.

Invino Veritas
9/11/13
EOF