I don't typically write in poetry, like rarely, and anyone who has read the few lines I've written, also knows what follows is not my style. I awoke from a nightmare last night. These are the words that came from the imagery at 3:00 a.m.
The Anxious Soul
It does not sleep like those around him,
Eyes wide open
to the crash.
The mayhem that ensues
from the riotous thunder
Walking in the dark woods-
comfort of his own making.
His breath pushed down
Holding on.
Can't see what the beast sees
out the window.
Crash
It circles, still violent
Who's face is this
Do not look-
fear it's your own.
Righteous White America-
windows broken,
going in circles,
head slumped over,
while the beast is howling.
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