Mocked

By Andrew R. Duckworth

The storms follow me and mock,
Cackling at the fear I hold
With a vice grip.
The darkest shadows come at night
And start a ruckus of wind and hail
That beats my back ceaselessly.
I sit alone with my bitterness,
Still trying to save the world
From nature through thought,
Attempting to change God’s mind
Through a will of my own.
Anger, the birthplace of hatred,
Hitched a ride on my shoulders
And refuses to climb down,
Strangling with gripping arms
With the weight of cinder blocks.
And, just when I think
The storm has passed us by,
There it goes firing up again.