Storm

The wind blasts against the shuttering glass

The clouds move quickly across the moon

The storm gathers around the house’s every room

And pushing back hearth’s smoke, it may not pass

We sit on nights like these and laugh

At ghosts we thought we’d left behind

As clothing forgotten whips on abandon lines

And like harsh touch speaks with vulgar lash

We tremble, too, look at the squalid boards

Of house and tremble we thought thoroughly knew

That creaks and glands and hollows at the spew

Of pounding beasts and Satan’s angry hoards.

We clamp our hands and sweaty palms to heat

The cold dank dampness growing in the soul

We thought we grew over this terror too old

For horrors of night and storms too complete

Inside us, old trembles shakes of other serious crimes

That we have confessed by not rightly lamented

Or sorrowed over, confession enough for fences mended

The guilt rises with the dark and noise into our minds

Maybe we should return and answer all this with pray

Like children do under the cover in dark wait for the morn

Or soldiers in trenches deep in the midst of battle for horn

Maybe we need dig deeper still to sings to which we’re heir

Then when worse winds wind us house, home and all

Around these thought so storm seas sullen rage

Dawn rises like a chapter’s end, a fresh new page

Where confessions forgotten are shoved back for yet another call.