When north is south and west is east, storm clouds
Break out on Thunder Island. When winds inner
Out and echoes plead with gibberish-crowds,
Sound pummels the mountains of Thunder Island.

How proud that land, how allowed to perish!
How mothered here and fathered there, alone
On bosom of earth’s floating home, churlish…
Woe, still, when all is said and done, so known.

When up is down and solo is a crowd,
Cacophonies decry Thunder Island.
When inside reaches out, words become shrouds,
Erosion winnows Thunder Island’s sands.

How proud are vows when screamed from heights aloud!
How endowed to perish – Thunder Island.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 3/12/06