Fury

No warning, or portent,

only a slight movement of air

at first, birthing wind

strengthening

forcing small droplets of vapor

together, into clouds

darkening, edged in gray

then blue-black, a herald

of destructive desire

clouds baptizing softly

then hard, tiny stilettos stinging

skin, tearing at pores

as the fury wraps around me,

offering not destruction

not violence or death

but love, ultimately.

I’ve been reading The Furious Longing of God by Brennan Manning, and his chapter entitled “Fury” put me in mind of the images above. More on that tomorrow.

This poem is submitted to Open Link Night at dVersePoets.

Photograph by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.