Tornado

There was once a breeze who mistook

his brother windstorm for a tornado.

As the swirling breeze contained himself,

he siphoned his own succulent spite.

With mounting agitation, the windstorm

disconnected from all that was familiar.

He grew unpredictable,

ceasing his graceful dances and

altering his typical patterns, so as to astound

the foolishly assuming brother breeze.

Fury and resentment led to hysterical attack.

The two were at it for days, and

all in their wake were pummeled by

sharp electrical blasts of frenzied static.

His passion fueled by pent-up negativity,

the windstorm retaliated with sheer abandon,

while the breeze hurled doubt as if a dagger,

at the belly of the churning monster.

An intensely magnetic situation was

established by two equally opposing forces.

The line was drawn at the brim of destruction,

and at last windstorm and breeze were united.

This newfangled version of a tornado

injures all who pass through it.

Without mercy, its implosive pressure

will compress your mind until it’s lost for good.

So if on your walk you spy an unruly tornado,

spinning dark with knife securely planted

in each of its two vulnerable backs,

turn around and walk the other way.

For surely, as you can see, its chaos

has nothing to do with you. Yet.

Jennifer Burnside