Storm At Sunrise

by Gary Inbinder

The warning sounds
At sunrise. Icy fingers
Grip our soul, and wrench it
Through a spiny hole.
Like thin wire, stretched taut
Or embers smothered,
Soon to break and die.
While still in bed, we lie.

Sleet beats hard,
At sunrise. Windows glaze,
Fires blaze, frosty wires whine,
And rattle in the wind.
Like thin wire, stretched taut
Or embers smothered,
Soon to break and die.
Yet still in bed, we lie.

The storm rages
At sunrise. It snaps the wire,
Consumes fire, and
Chills the soul.
Like thin wire, stretched taut
Or embers smothered,
Soon to break and die.
Why still in bed do we lie?

The storm passed,
At noontide. Wires repaired,
Fires rekindled, and lights
Renewed. Too late, for one.
Death sheared the wire,
And snuffed her fire.
Dreams expire, memories die,
And still in bed, I lie.