The Tempest

Like lightning striking
Through a new moon
The Lord's anger thundered
In the pitch black rooms
Of a house
Sinking deep.
No life boats.
No S.O.S.

Some children are raised to believe
that Family's a ship
With a Shainghaied crew
Left drift on the sea.
They'll fall to their knees
When the stormwinds blow.
With eyes rolled back,
crying out to heaven.
Hoping, maybe,
Just once
All the stars would align.
Come! New World!
Come! Armageddon!
Either way
They'd wash up on shore
Free from the icy wait
For the keening wail
Of the yardstick
Or the belt.

But raging lungs bellow
And young sailors,
Resigned,
Curl up and wait
To mix blood
In the brine.

Young Starbucks
Know nothing
Of original sin.
But deep in their bones
They know what is true
to them.
That no lash falls
On the back
Of an innocent lamb.
(And that poison seeps in
Each time the lightning strikes.)