Tornado

My mind is like a neighborhood after the devastation of a tornado.

Silent destruction you just can't describe, broken lives strewn across the street.

You can see the quiet, orderly words meant to grace the page all tangled and mangled and torn.

I read the colloquies so well penned by others and wonder why as I try write the storms have destroyed all my lines.

I want so badly to convey the things that make me silently scream inside.

But instead I am left picking up photos and keepsakes in the early morning light.

Dreading the gales that blow and disembowel the epitaphs I try and scribe.