Written by Lincoln McAlister
The storm hit in the night ripping off tops of pines
As weeds would be in a field such careless strokes
By some angry storm God let loose in the darkness
A God with a forgotten name only catalogued in dust
The people cowered at His final show as winds screamed
And howled and bit like an untamed mountain mare
For where I lay my hand shall be desolate bleakness
All shall bend before me for I am the wind and the rain
I shall take life tonight in this violence made flesh
In element and in water particle and in isosceles
Where do lost Gods go after such show of force
With gathering clouds dissipating once more again
To watch from afar in the celestial sky.
Text © Lincoln McAlister
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