Flood of Words

A tree, leaf floating

through the wind.

Am I inspired? Moved?

I try to listen to each sound, the silences masked with slate-like faces

Do these things give me meaning?

Falling, falling, ground, decay. Nothing.

But there is something. Something. Listen.

Ideas stamp around, knocking China off the shelves.

Trunks of steel hit the walls,

Noise and debris, all there is within this inner hell.

Enraged flames roar, riot, protest. The walls

begin to fall, crumbling, nothing, dust.

Out comes the broom, and the hope of cleaning this mess

one too many times.

Closet shuts. Trash taken out. Flames subdued. Does the count.

Flood of calm. A rare thing indeed.

These words have done their purpose, helping someone in need.