Storm

 I’m shredding to pieces in a hurricane

Fraying threadbare at my edges like the sail on a sea-worn ship

I yearn to let go, but I am tied too tightly to my old mast

And now the storm subsides

Winds, though icy and cutting may they be,

Are gentler than just moments ago

This inconsistent tempest makes me feel ill

And worn far too thin for my own good

Brittle and soon to break

I can feel that fateful snap

Coming from a long way off, much too close