Demon Storm

It came from the west,
dark and menacing, building
turbulence as it engulfed the hills.
Blacker and blacker became
its face, and movement ceased.
'Twas deathly still, and
I stared, transfixed, into
its deadly maw.

Suddenly, it spat limbs and
debris, scattering frightened animals,
its eyes flashing, threat rumbling,
echoing from the trees, which
it had bent toward me.
I was surrounded by howling
banshees, and clashing symbols as
hail the size of golf balls
pummeled the house.

Loose boards lifted, slammed,
lifted, slammed again, as
echelons of rain marched
across the yard, heaving mud, and
calling unto their brethren to
rise up from the river and
overwhelm the barriers
created by puny men, and
tear down the ramparts.

Then the devil spawned in
that great maw, big and black, and
grinding the land, and
yanked houses from their mooring,
tossed them into the air like
some great crap-shoot
of the gods.  And I cowered
in my cover, a shaking leaf,
clinging to the tree of life by
a tender stem, and praying.

Then it was gone, stomping
off to the East, with winds abating and
silence descending, except for
the heavy drip of sodden trees and
weeping of the stricken as they
picked their possessions
from precariously piled rubble.
Thunder receded in the distance,
a subtle good-bye, and
perhaps a veiled threat
to return another day.

Dallas D'Angelo-Gary 09