Children of the Gale

Jennifer Paige©1998

Crescendo—

            The winds again fortissimo

            Against flesh ablaze.

The ensuing wildfire rages

            Beyond the harness of torrential rains,

            To flood the gates of re-memory.

The storm is a coda unto itself,

            The soft refrain of water and sky

            A lullaby to the Children of the Gale.

Kin to the air, lost souls float,

            Tossed upon gusts like leaves

            Only to rest and quiver

            Beneath a trio of blue-hexagonal sky.

The storm breaks,

            Cool sheets of rain

            Line the streets with metronome,

            The pace for flood.

Water to purge and cleanse the canvas

            Seen by the filthy eyes of millions

            Conquers the dam,

            Fiercely battling the ground and wins.

            Saturation of so much is a dream.

Familiar to the eyes of the lost,

            Like so many storms before…

A brook of white sound behind the only difference,

            The only nuance changed,

            That and the actual awareness of the real,

            The ideal.

The storms rich melody plays out,

            From prelude,

            Through climax,

            To Finns.

The mist remains, left to penetrate bone,

            Green the grass,

            Diamond-adorn the trees,

            Glisten the streets,

            Recycle itself;

A tune remembered

            As quickly as forgotten.

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