The Storm

The storm is
a level 5
because there’s no such thing
as a level 6

and this
malevolent 5
leaves
in it’s path
despair
degradation
destruction
detritus…
death

and a man on the street
witness to horrors
of mind numbing proportions
mutters:

“I’ve never had a nightmare
or a beautiful dream about this…
people are just not themselves.”

and he mutters this
in the midst of
the human condition
humans supposedly
designed by an intelligent being…
but doing what humans would do
if they weren’t

survivors
surrounded by
rivers of
flood waters
sewage
and bloated bodies

rivers that used to be
streets…
choked with
the flotsam and jetsam
of evacuated lives

and the few
spots
above the water
along the river/streets
are piled high
with abandoned bric-a-brac
-twisted vestiges
left for the archeologists
and rebuilders
to gather and decipher-
abandoned by all
except
those too dire
or too destitute
or too forsaken to escape

and I’m transfixed
and horrified
by television images of
refugees stranded
on the roofs of their own houses

islands
surrounded by
a sea of ruined desolation

desperate public pleas
duct taped
painted
and scrawled
on cardboard
sheets
shingles

“SOS”
“need food”
“water”
“pray for us”

screaming
weeping
angry
incredulous masses
evacuated to
and gathered at
football stadiums
convention halls
any high dry ground or building

demanding food
water
clothing
buses
seeking
human dignity
and rescue
but receiving
little more than pity…
which they can’t eat…

“I’ve never had a nightmare
or a beautiful dream about this…
people are just not themselves”

and the bodies
continue to pile
in refugee-villes
conventions centers
swampy parks
and on street corners

“Here lies Vera…
god help us”

god help us indeed
except god isn’t
in the water
washing away lives
nor is god in the
maelstrom
ripping homes apart
and families asunder and god isn’t on
his white horse
riding to the rescue
of the sorrow filled souls
or Vera

no
it’s up to the citizens
of the world
who wash in
like a wave of humanity
into the eye
of destruction…
despite the rusty gears of
a government
starved of human compassion

no
the wave washes in
to quiet and feed
the babies
pull hopeless survivors
from water choked streets
clothe the shivering on hot
and humid September days
and give food and water
to people
who could only previously
steal
pick
pluck
and claim
whatever presented itself
to feed their starving families

and the man muttered:

“I’ve never had a nightmare
or a beautiful dream about this…
people are just not themselves”

indeed

nightmares and dreams
are never as ugly
or beautiful
as life itself…