The Storm

As a bad omen in the raging wind outside

Driving in its maelstrom

A constable of ravens,

Crosses the sky in front of my window,

Fighting against the infernal twister,

Tries to avoid being hurtled against the vertical facades,

Encircling them in a decreasing vortex.

Changing constantly of direction

In the hope of finding a haven

By their flighty flight

Far gone is their straight line in the sky

As they are tossed here and there in the roaring wind

In their erratic search for the ultimate refuge.

Life mimics the storm forcing us along its path

Pressure to find a shelter

Is seriously increasing before the storm hits

Alternatives and choices are fast disappearing

But as for the ravens the escape routes are closing down

Can’t go back, can’t go further

We shall have to face it.

©L. Bailliet

31/01/2012