Tempest

And in a carnival of clouds
of that dulled January day
the Midway of a gray Ohio sky—
can’t you see the swings fly
by, the whirl of signs, lights flashing?
A festival this is. There, the whoosh
of some small car, riders
screaming on their last-
coaster ride of life. The carousel
spins and funnels and we
Gravitron to our doom.
From my new tomb I listen
to the shrill train’s whistle
as it departs with our departed.

Shawn Nacona Stroud is a painter and poet who lives just outside of Columbus, Ohio, with his dog Tiberius. He works a full-time corporate job in the tech industry and divides his spare time between being outside among nature and his art.

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1 Response to Tempest

  1. L.K. Latham says:

    Very good. So many meaning.

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