Dedicated To: Victoria N. Magallanes
Hidden in the anvil of a late April storm
Beats the whistles of a whirlwind, Mother Nature has just born
It spins its deadly fingers, while growing stronger in its wake
Turning downwards toward the prairie, in search of victims to make a name
We drive our tattered wagon, along this dusty road
Seeking answers to the secrets which the Twister holds inside
The knowledge which we gather, in our chase of spring time storms
Will lead one day to learning, how to tame their wicked turns
As we watch this swirling mass, venting anger with each embrace
This evil wrath of blackness, sets its funnel upon the land
The darkness in the sky, seems to be drawing ever closer
Leaving little time to check our instruments, which gives us insight
To many questions left unanswered, by the coming of the storms
Amazingly the devil wind begins to plow, into the dryness of the ground
Turning trees into splinters, as it cuts a slithered path, along the edges of the field
With just three quarter mile between us, we gaze towards the vortex
Whom very few have ever seen, or will ever see again
For we're Tornado Hunters, a job which breathes pure fear
In this magnificence of nature, rarely seen by mortal man
Leaves me totally in awe, of the many splendid wonders
Mother Nature keeps within
Written by: Roland R. Ruiz
1 comment:
Your poem makes me shiver as you have painted a vivid picture of this "beast" of a storm with your words. I feel you succeeded very well in using powerful expression to transmit a natural force which only few may ever be able to discover, but so many are hit and thrown into suffering about it.
A very good write, Roland!
Post a Comment