Storm

Cowering winds fearful of the darkening cloud

of hurling battered 'marches'

not spared

the back-ripping flood

of fields raked by shards of faceless mask

hurl skies that sting torn

in the flesh-trees sores by the skewerer

tearing shelter and its naked barbed branch

fends the fierce lance of spring

that harpoon

of open season

storm's winter of sins

that levelling of compulsion

that breaking the barn doors

reeking of rain-filled damage

that skin the fragile life

farming the fear

whilst farming the life