Storm

By Cliff Lake

 

Storm

 

The revelers in the fortress frolic,

They celebrate their coffers,

Grown too large to be exhausted in a lifetime,

And so jealously guarded,

And admired by their keepers.

 

Overlorded by one of their number,

But less clean,

Less mannerly,

Less than even they,

But more brutal than any of them.

He knows their deeds,

Thus their loyalty is secured.

 

The fortress makes pronouncements of intent:

A slowly tightening suffocation,

It insures its security by right it grants itself,

And by the display of sword and spear.

It trusts such strength without question,

Uninterested in the doings of the rabble beyond.

 

The fortress has deployed its guard,

Faceless thugs with questionable order,

And questionable tactic.

The streets and the countryside slowly empty,

Windows shutter,

Lights lower,

Open conversation declines,

Secrets keep best in the dark.

 

Beyond the fortress wall the public works lessen,

The fields go unharvested,

Smiles disappear.

The fortress acknowledges none of it:

The decay is not seen from the inside.

 

The fortress does not ask of the disappearing crowds,

Does not inquire of the emptying streets,

The fortress enjoys the quiet without:

It prefers its own voice.

 

The revelers in the fortress frolic,

Collecting more than their due,

Celebrating their burgeoning cruelty,

For they count defiance in small number –

The few voices speaking against them as the totality,

Unknowing of the anger of those that do not speak,

And fearing them not.

 

The darkened houses,

The gatherings behind unlit windows,

The conclaves unseen,

The plans spoken in whisper,

These are the tempest just past the horizon…

 

The gathering storm will not announce itself.

It will arrive.

 

Cliff Lake 8/27/2025

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2025

Location: Wichita, KS, USA

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