I, the Weather Vane
Sep 2, 2018 · 1 min read
A free-form Poem
I, the weather vane, spin and spin
The wind twirling my metallic form to and fro
An Iron Whirling Dervish atop a humble home
I seek comfort in the coming of the storm
As the sun’s warmth fades, I rise
Upon the spirt of the swollen clouds
Thunderous claps disturbing atoms in the air
Still I spin round and round
An electric hand reaching down
From heaven to the fertile earth
What once was green is now alive with flame
And still I am untouched
“Strike me!” I cry, to the wild darkened sky
“Melt me down!” my liquid body dripping on the dirt
Soon I feel electrons in my midst
A loud buzzing in the ether
I am blinded by radiance
And expect to find myself no more
But still I turn and turn
A weather vane atop a humble home
