The Beast

The Beast

Quiet calmness,

Broiling in the early afternoon,

Humid, harmless,

Hoping that the healing rains come soon.

Crouching coolness,

Coiling on the rim of earth and sky,

Striking swiftly,

Lunging toward a prey that's parched and dry.

Stabbing, slashing,

Hacking up the sky with blazing blades,

Pounding, crashing,

Threatening destruction, unafraid,

Mindless fury,

Unconcerned with those beneath his glare,

Spawning death,

This monster, loosed from his celestial lair.

Rolling slowly,

Boiling now in billows black and dour,

Whirling madly,

Dev'lish in his dark, cyclonic power,

Drooling, spitting,

Hurling tons of frozen, whited stones,

Gnawing trees,

He leaves behind their broken, splintered bones

Rising, climbing,

Hovering aloft with scowling face,

Rumbling, growling,

Moving on to yet another place,

Sunlight breaking,

Over this despoiled, chaotic scene,

Nature lying,

Once again contented and serene.

© Copyright 2006 Linda Watkins

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