Fury in the Air
In the quiet of Mother Nature,
In her bosom a complacent lullaby,
A song that tames the passion,
An air that dissolves the run of passion,
A lullaby to sleep of all anxiety,
An independent lilting of the spirit,
A nestling against the walls of velvet,
A soft hideaway locked up inside,
A self a million miles from pain,
A mother’s arms of iron and tears,
Away from the air that roams about,
The cold, cold, lonely, restless air,
Hungry to get inside and stir it up,
To seek out and find its vulnerability
Like a lion stalking its prey,
A separation from the herd,
A roaming invitation to the kill
As the fury finds the way to get inside,
And the cold air mixes with the heat
Like heaven and hell converging together,
As hell shows its muscles
And twists heaven into a knot,
A twisted beauty of gray and black,
Of hate piling up upon hate,
Of clouds becoming a portrait of hell,
A view upon its violent ways,
Its sadistic laughter and hollow tears,
Its bestial waters forming seven heads,
Its sending ships down to their watery grave,
Unleashing its fury and
Making preparations to conquer the world,
Until the mercy of the stillness above,
The benevolence of the sun,
The beauty of the rainbow,
The God casting out the devil,
And the meek inheriting the earth.
Liked or faved by...
