there is a cantilevered porch on the quietest of side streets;
light streaks through separated Venetian blinds where eyes peep-
out from warm insides; they gauge the creeping that’s now surrounding
their abodes; they’re huddling up and hunkering down for the storm that’s downwind.
but here i still stand, as tall as i can against the freezing breeze;
i march in place, solemnly through the chatter of war, seeking peace.
and in that sense, succeeding, silently on this porch.
i celebrate secret victories over all odds violently put forth.
but there’s a rumble in the distance now, a reflection of the sun
in storm clouds screaming so loud i can’t tell what direction it’s coming from.
it’s the type of noise that you can feel rattle your stone-bones for the inside;
the type that bowls over the oldest oaks like an unseen rolling tide.
this can’t be a last stand
because i need a cane to lean on.
a man wholly composed of weaknesses
alone, trying to be strong.
at ground level it’s wretched, gory;
mother nature’s preparing another war.
but i’m safe, for now, on the second story
…standing against the storm.
and with no forecast to foretell and no cliched calm for a warning;
the sky continued to darken; her cries sharpened, she started pouring.
thunder came to her crescendo, and lightning grounded where she pleased;
lady Fahrenheit bottomed out and crippled every single leaning tree.
the sky opened, she started roaring; interpreted as a murderous thirst
then she seemingly took control of gravity and every building hurdled to earth,
and disappeared into the dense, black fog of the bleak night.
she hurled a star to the surface that stole the shine of every streetlight.
a violent spark-fest erupted as the vacuum drew all to its vertex;
power-lines sucked like twigs towards the center of a bright, vertical bird’s nest.
now with a warpath for a walkway, leading to the epicenter of this destruction
my own sky dawns inside, and though still pretending to understand my function,
i snuff out my last distraction, adjust my jacket and start to trucking
through the rubbish, to the summit; who knows for what, but not for nothing.
this may be my last stand,
and I may need a cane to lean on,
i may frequently speak weak frequencies,
but i have just started to feel strong
the ground-level is smoldering
mother nature’s waged another war.
her earth is lightened from less soldiering,
… but I’m still standing against the storm.
so with the swirling star within sight, my world burning around the street,
i called my bravest self to the forefront and trekked down the stairs to meet
whatever it was that landed rightly on its intersection thrown
and laid waste to all things I’ve ever intimately or indirectly known.
i dodged the shrapnel through the gauntlet, damning logic and ducking racket;
finally big enough for my self-awareness but still too small for this fucking jacket.
about halfway down the pathway i realized i didn’t need my feet to move;
the force of the spinning disc and its shimmering fits were pulling me to its groove.
i stood ten feet away, as it stood fifty-feet-tall;
a perfect circle displayed itself until shifting to evolve
into a bright burning box; i felt an implicit fear to enter.
then a side opened up, revealing a mirror at its center.
back i leaned as a tractor beam dragged me to its surface,
until i was face-to-face with the version of me that had finally found his purpose;
the self that drove the better parts of me, but i couldn’t consistently be it,
was always there, but my entire world had to burn for me to see it.
so this is my last stand
and you may need a cane to lean on
i’ve shed the worst parts of me like snakeskin,
and i’m being strong; so be gone.
worlds can be rebuilt,
with mother nature’s will and warmth,
but know yourself and your side,
when it comes time to stand against the storm.