01 November 2008

The storm sky swirls around a gathering choir of tormented clouds
Determined waves break from the vaster ocean’s mellowness and lap at the heels of a thousand startled white horses
Eight years deep into the unimaginable
Stones are still metaphors in the face of tanks but more are being thrown
Symbols crumble everyday
You break your back for symbols
Power is an illusion
until you hear the deep grumble coming up from the earth’s iron core
harmonizing with the thunderous storm sky