ICLEMENT DOOM

Scanning the Summer Skies of my Fair-weathered Soul

Optimistic, of Forecasting when things went wrong.

Suddenly, Swarming Dark Clouds appeared, Hovering Invincibly over my Terrified Spirit,

Pelting my consciousness with golf ball sized drops of Guilt, Composing Staccato dreary Storms of Grief and Despair.

Thunderous Lightning Bolts Crash Loudly,

Striking fear into my weakened Self-Esteem.

Drenched and Soaked, I sink Cowardly, Drowning

In a swirling Puddle of PTSD.

Turbulent Winds of Doom, Fiercely Blow Funnels of

Depression coupled with Anxiety, they Pierce my Vulnerable

Emotions, like Sharply Honed Icicles of Torture.

Tsunamis of Confusion, Tornado and Twister my Defenseless Perceptions into Obscured thoughts of Suicide.

At no time have I witnessed the Tranquil of Autumn Leaves

Falling Silently in the Still of the Night.

Rather, Viciously I’m swept into the Raging Eye of a Hurricane of Medication.

Never experiencing the Gentle Calm after the storm,

My Cruel Existence Lay Buried beneath a Blizzard of Distorted Thinking,

Restlessly Awaiting the Spring Thaw of my Snow Blind Mind.



Wendell C. Smith