The aftermath

   © Tornado Tree by Isadora Gruye

My limbs are bare of palm leaves and fruits
The wind has tore them from my hands  
Violently, without warning -- fruits
from labor hands, slipped from my hands
Splitting grey belly,   scattering seeds 
In soil, dry of grief and repast, blooms break 
The sky grieves the empty blooms and seeds
But I am not broken --    I will not break !

~0~0~0~

The autumn tempest has ripped me bare
Of roof and sun colors but sheets -
Thin, hardly veiling gaping walls,  bare 
Of  sheets, I stood, amid pale sheets
Brown eyes searched the blue skies for answers
Brutal is the wrath of the bitter wind
I listened for answers...        one answer 
... Only the clouds pulsed, flailing in the wind   

                                                            @ Terry of Mobuisfaith


Poetry form:   An eight line poem by William Butler Yeats.  
Line 1: 9 syllables (a)
Line 2: 8 syllables (b)
Line 3: 9 syllables (a)
Line 4: 8 syllables (b)
Line 5: 9 syllables (c)
Line 6: 10 syllables (d)
Line 7: 9 syllables (c)
Line 8: 10 syllables (d)



Posted for:   OpenLinkNight of Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (every Monday)
and D'verse Poets Pub (every Tuesday) ~  Thanks for the visit ~