Submitted by Ronald E. Shields
The chosen few can pass this night of gales
floating in the intimacy of friends and fine ideas.
While we who are confined to fixed positions
shake as if the wind
might impale us on the sharp spears of our lives,
whisper as though our voices
could bring the walls down on our naked heads.
We sit behind closed windows, bolted doors,
unaccounted for, unsure, ill at ease,
feeling unprotected as rain shatters against the roof.
The light of day has faded.
The weight of night, the weight of all nights,
pales in comparison to this leaden darkness
pressing against our eyes,
making the brilliant dawn unthinkable.
Photo Credit: JMW Turner – Snow Storm Steam Boat off a Harbour’s Mouth