A wretched man
Atop grey walls,
Inside a hollowed room.
With holes in roof
The flooding rain
Hides views of tombstone bloom.
The storms approach
Casts fear to hearts-
The citizens of late.
Once lightning strikes
Conducting rods
And channels through his gate.

Machine of bone
And rotting skin,
The energies prevail.
Once channeled power
Pierced within
The fungus turning pale.

With roaring cracks,
Once more it strikes,
Alive sparks tortured mind.
He rips from wires-
Crushing straps
To leave confines behind.

And once storm dies,
Despite his will,
Apart split thoughts and flesh.
But when return
The stormy strikes-
So will the creature, fresh.

Jonathon Best 2009©