A violent storm

A storm has passed by,
Twisted roots
Gnarled trunks
Bemoaning their fate,
Clouds in tatters
Like the clothes of a platform child,
Mutilated flowers,
A rose tearing its petals,
A sunflower dripping blood,
The landscape a surreal painting
By Dali in oil,
Grotesque, and yet real
Embracing
The violence that cleanses.

You too have passed,
Leaving in your wake
Steel shards in the soul,
A murdered heart,
Memories mutilated,
Life a dark shade of crimson
Dripping away
A drop at a time,
The world a concentration camp
Manufacturing
Soap strips of my skin,
My body an empty shell
Stripped inside-out
By the violence of betrayal.

This too shall pass,
As Buddha said
With death on his lips,
All things are transient,
Strive on.....
In the hope of passage.