Whirlwinds

Vortexes swirling in stinging snarls

form in the mind,

wrenching the gut, trying knots in the veins.

Words of fire, stormy caustic assaults

burning with hate,

rage in tumultuous tempest,

inhaled with trusting heart

before they bring

such twisters to the insides,

ruinous remains of esteem's shelter

become melancholy's cocoon.

Wings of lost innocence,

bent and crippled

kept in closet

as museum of fairy tale sunrises never born.

Dangling next to enchanted baubles

from times one flew to Oz

on mattress flying carpet.

In the darkness where the sobs of hollowness

echo in their biting stirs

because no one listens

over the sounds of their own snores,

a cyclone begins to whirl within,

faster, ever so more potent,

possessing the torrid tornado twirls

from passion's gusts,

fracturing the shell in despair,

butterfly rises with spreading plume of hope,

able to see in the elements of life

how the same wind that can crush one's world

can also bring a genesis,

when eyes are finally dried from the hurricanes of abuse

long enough to see the funnel clouds of insight

sweep through the layers of longing

so one can feel freedom's air

without the stench of sadness toxic waste dump.