The Mistral

 

Black dog.jpg

 

 

The black dog

The wind blows no good
Which blows through here
Like the Mistral that drives men
To murder
It worms its way in
Polluting thoughts
Growing doubts
It can tear down houses
And uproot dreams
Few can stand it longer
Than those who cannot stand it at all
It drives locusts before it
Leaves a wasted land behind
And in the eye of the storm
Lies the terrible clammy silence
Of dark, pensive anticipation.

 

 

 

Words and image are my own.

©2016

 

 

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