Havoc

A Poem

I fear the machinations of the rotted tree, Its roots have churned the fertile ground, wreaking havoc and devastation, poisoning the vegetation of the garden. Deterioration prevails, awaiting the warden’s scythe.

I would do anything, within my power, to save my children from toxic elements, that might poison their minds. but falsehoods run rampant, infiltrating the air waves, crossing perimeters, causing confusion. Wolves hiding in sheep’s attire, no way to tell which one the liar.

My father would often say, “Il pesce puzza de capo” ‘the fish stinks from the head.’ Perplexed, I always wondered what he meant.

There is havoc within the contortions of my brain, it reeks, its stench unpalatable. Who would have allowed the rotten apple access into the recesses of my cerebral cortex? —--I seriously contemplate. Is it a worm that eats my brain? That causes such excruciating pain? And is, what plagues my mind contagious?

My face, once peaceful and serene, So radiant and filled with life, Now twisted, creased and stapled, in unremorseful strife. Full of fury and fire.

I feel an angry, tempestuous storm brewing, Grey-etched clouds swelling, swirling, sweeping the sky, With me, just waiting for the chaos to end, for the release of dampened drops that the heavens so mercifully send. A silent prayer might suffice. Or a strong dose of placebo prescribed, to restore the illusion of balance and harmony.

It takes courage to walk in the sun, to reflect its blinding light, from obscurity’s lost remains, to the canvas brushed with words painted, eternity dissolved, forever tainted. Until havoc, once again, arrives.

Connie Song 2020