The Fifth

You, the screaming gale,
pushing turbine blades that
rip and scratch
at the arching back of insistent winds.
The moaning on the threshold – the shaking of the doors.

You rush and swirl,
a zephyr gathering power,
sirocco full of dusty heat, rage –
your eyes a swirling whorl,
eternal and consuming.

-Martin Burns

About Martin

I'm just... filling time.
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