Torn

Torn. from here to Eternity...or maybe just from across the room.
The book flies end over end into the carpeted corner.
The man sits lonely, but not alone, listening
to the seemingly endless prattlings of women:
They are talking about a movie.
He cannot remember the title but it little matters.
"Can you stand it?"
"Why would they put such senseless violence in a picture?"
"Yesss," comes the sibilant response, "doesn't it make you sick?"
Outside. the low, long sounds of thunder chasing clouds
across the once silent sky in a dance of darkness.
Misty mid-morning gray swallows the city:
choking off hope and slowing heavenbound prayers.
The sun is shining and warm somewhere, but not here.
Somewhere the sounds of children's play and laughter fill the air,
but not here.
There is peace somewhere on this godforsaken clod of earth and water,
but not here.
The hard life wants not for adventure.
Some go chasing storms, but not here...
Here, the storms will come for you.

5.30.1995