Outside the Window Inside

Outside the window there is fury;

The oaks torturing at their root

While their flailing branches brush strokes across the sky

Into a miasma of grays, blacks, yellows and reds -

The wind's low murmur interrupted by thunderous drum rolls

While white flashes illuminate the fear that blinds

The virtuous and the sinful alike.

Inside the window there is all to see

And yet, the blind brute

Stumbles around groping at the why

Of his naked sense that covets the cloth threads-

He doesn't understand the audience of souls

Who are witnessing the fuse of external and internal winds

Of a mind that blinks open and close with each strike.