Little
Leaves me trembling

Anymore

But there is this:

Electrical storms and wind:

The this and that of nature
Slamming into the night

Tumbling like a heavy load

On

Every

Single

Thing.

The good and the beautiful
Are not spared
The weight of the assault.

Nor are the small
Or the sleeping

Or the innocent and warm
Or you and me.

This chain of events
Wraps itself around
Sleep,
Chokes it,
And moves on

Without mercy

Or even a sense

Of what mercy is.

Left with what is,
I tremble.

One Single Impression