Poem – HAILSTORM OF HELLFIRE (By John Tustin)
HAILSTORM OF HELLFIRE
One hour dissolves degradingly into the next
And my eyes burn with dead sunlight and my own dusty misery
As I wait in helpless spiritual poverty
For whatever new hailstorm of hellfire
Is next to knock on my door.
My dignity has been taken.
My children are being stolen.
Each day my recovery takes more from me.
Minutes tick away in this shelter of closed eyes,
Of concrete walls, of stilled waves
Floating aimless on the poisoned water.
What can be done to me further?
What do I even care anymore as I strum tunelessly,
Pace aimlessly these hallways of gray sheets of terror?
I open the door, I stand in the hell light,
I step out, I bow down,
I let the hot stones fall.
Author Bio: John Tustin
John Tustin is currently suffering in exile on the island of Elba but hopes to return to you soon. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published works.