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Poetry is magic. Once can take a seemingly everyday happenstance and transform it into something extraordinary. Take for instance a day that I stood on the roof of my workplace and watched a storm approach. It wet me for a brief few moment before I ducked back inside. Sure, watching a storm is an impressive sight. But it’s the poetry that the moment inspired that allowed me to capture that moment and immortalize it in words. The Tempest is one of my personal faves, and I hope that you enjoy it as well.

The Tempest

Teeth of concrete I

negotiated; I

ascended from the depths, the

conflagration, the

maw Of the fiery Dragon.

Upward the

humidity lifted me from the

torridity, the foul oppression

that I had to escape,

if only for a moment.

Atop the towers of stone

I saw the approach; the

air was still, as though dreading

the Herald of its passage.

Darkness drew nearer in its

ever shifting form, in

hordes that stretched like thirsty

fingers; an ominous hand

cast its shadow over me,

the solitary figure

feigning defiance.

The wind shoved me

roughly, brooking no insolence;

I was startled by its

brusque attitude, the

unmerciful display of

ill-disposed temperament.

Somewhere in the heaving darkness

lightning flickered;

a promise of unspeakable

power, of

galvanic cords of shimmering fury.

In the uncaring embrace of

the billowing sweeps

I felt the temptation to

fly;

to drop into the mercy

of the winds and be

aloft, borne by the wispy ghosts

that moaned and shrieked as they

fluttered overhead.

I stood with arms outstretched, but

my only answer was

tears

stinging my eyes,

soaking my garments, and

shattering like broken crystal

upon the uncaring stone.

Dejected, I returned to the

smolder, the cavernous belly of

the Beast of industry,

forever engraved by the

touch, the singular moment of

freedom

in the visage of the tempest.

Copyright 2013 Bard Constantine. All rights and whatnot reserved.

From the collected volume  Image

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