Sonnet - Hollow

No rest for the poor souls left behind,

Questions fall like hail upon the nerves;

No answers, and no comfort shall they find,

Despite the closure each of them deserves.

How does anything like this make sense?

Here one moment, in the next one gone;

Trying to imagine them "past tense" --

Never mind the task of moving on.

Yet life continues, day by grueling day,

As if nothing's happened here at all;

A life so prematurely snatched away,

Powerless t'ignore the reaper's call.

Would that I could close my eyes and rest,

But for this cold hollow in my chest. 

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

The Confession (revised) - 1

So many items for auction;

    And so many poised to place bid

   On items dark -- better left hid;

Watchful, I exercised caution

   And kept my thoughts under a lid;

So many things up for adoption,

   I wanted them all, so I did--

Curiousity left me no option

  But to serve the whims of my Id.

My eye caught a varsity jacket,

    My excitement unusually flared--

    And no other bids undeclared!    

I'd need to remember to track it,

    Though my wallet was hardly prepared.

The auctioneer started his racket,

     Determined, I kept my jaw squared;

If I lost it, I might blow a gasket--

     That jacket and I would be paired.

So interesting, so enigmatic,

    Its mystery held me in thrall,

    Hanging there, up on the wall;

Its hold on me broken by panic--

    I missed the auctioneer's call!

Paranoid, shaken and manic, 

    Each hand in a tight-fisted ball,

My anger'd become near fanatic;

    (The jacket was mine, after all.)

Unshakable, this new obsession;

    I watched as the jacket came down,

    Regarded the buy'r with a frown,

And lapsed in my better discretion--

    I followed the man out of town. 

I must have made quite the impression;

    Startled, the man spun around,

    His face took a puzzled expression,

Before I threw him to the ground.

His begging cries earned him no quarter;

    My jealousy'd drove me insane,

    The craving a rampaging train-- 

All reason lost, past instinct's border--

    Heart black as the Biblical Cain. 

I set out to put things in order:

   "The jacket, or suffer some pain."

I suspect a hearing disorder;

    He put up a fight, and was slain.

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015

The Asylum - 1

    I'll tell you what happened to me. 

    I used to be a nurse at the Collingsworth Mental Hospital, though back then it was the Collingsworth Asylum. Named after its founder, who was the close friend of the Reverend Tucker, who founded our town -- did you know that? Of course you did. Everyone knows that story. You'll have to forgive an old woman's rambling. 

    Twenty years I worked there, wiping spit off chins, spoon feeding the ones who'd grown feeble, or had too much excitement and needed sedatives... even the poor souls with those awful lobotomy scars. What? Oh, yes. Those sorts of things were common back then; it was a different time. Not much was known about what made people do the things they did, or how to make someone 'right' again, so if therapy or pills couldn't fix you, they'd shock the 'wrong' out of you, and if that didn't work, well... the only thing they could do was poke around in your head until you couldn't do anything on your own anymore. 

  That part of the hospital -- the other girls and I secretly called it the Garden (because it was full of vegetables, hardy har har) -- wasn't dangerous at all. Those of them who could move around were harmless. Oh, sometimes we'd get a patient who'd tuck his medicine in his cheek and we'd have to sedate him, but nothing much worse than that. I wanted to help people, but I wasn't willing to risk my life. I don't know how the nurses in the Dungeon (the basement, where the criminally insane were kept) handled it -- I certainly couldn't have. 

  

  Twenty years is a long time. You get to know people, and invest in them. They become your friends, and you want more than anything for them to be okay, and they want someone to care about them, and remember them. Like that girl they brought in that time, what was her name? Abigail! Yes. She hadn't been there more than a few days, mostly unconscious. The poor thing was an absolute mess, and I was given the task of bathing her once she was awake. She was such a beautiful girl, graceful and slim, like a ballerina, but her hair was wild and dark, and she was covered head to toe in blood. Turned out she'd snapped and killed her mama's boyfriend after he tried laying hands on her, but not before he beat her near half to death, the poor dear. 

  I took to her right away, being as she was so small and frail. Such a perfect little thing. I'd check on her every so often, just to straighten her hair while she slept, water her plants, that sort of thing. Call me an old biddy, but I think pretty things should be kept pretty. Besides, she had no one. No visitors, no calls. I thought someone ought to show her kindness, especially since she probably hadn't seen any in a while. 

  Once she was awake and fully aware, though, that was a different story altogether... But before that, would you excuse an old lady for a moment? That tea is delicious, but it goes right through me. 

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

Compatible Monsters - 10

The next two minutes goes by in a flash:

She's almost unrecognizable;

Her body stretched, pulled like silly putty,

Arms and legs, fingers toes and hair

Elongated and split o'er and o'er, 

Into tiny living filaments;

All of them screaming to be outside,

Flailing, frenzied, groping for purchase;

too fast for the guards (or their bullets) --

Seizing them six, seven at a time,

Effortlessly tossing them about,

Snapping bones and crushing skulls like eggs. 

The laughing man watches her, awestruck.

'Most outstanding,' he thinks to himself,

'But there exists no wolf that looks like that.

What is she becoming, I wonder?

Whatever she may be, she's beautiful --

The way she dances through the guards' assault,

As if there is no threat to her safety;

As if there's nothing happening at all.

Even with her body in that shape,

How majestic -- gracefully macabre --

The bodies fall in chunks of bloody mess,

Dead before they ever touch the ground.

Standing fierce, surrounded by the dead,

Covered head to toe in viscera,

She glares at him with eyes of brilliant green,

Hyperventilating. "Fresh air. Now."

A million tiny tentacles hang limp,

Her eyelids weigh a ton -- she's exhausted --

Weakened by the melee, terrified,

And about to pass out on the floor. 

Before she lands, he scoops her in his arms,

And carries her, unconscious, out the door.

No one's brave enough to block his path

(They know what he's done -- they read the news).

They watch him cross the grounds and disappear,

Swallowed by the vast expanse of woods;

He lays her on the fallen autumn leaves,

Looming over her, so hungrily...

"Sorry darling -- nothing personal,

But I need to feed. It's been so long,

Since my appetites were satisfied,

And my tastes are sophisticated.

I don't intend to kill you, little one;

Only to take from you what I need,

And otherwise, I won't hurt you at all,"

And leaning toward her neck, bares razor teeth.

His red eyes bulge as something grabs his throat,

Her green ones flash with rage. "I don't think so."

Tentacles like angel hair pasta,

Burrowing into the chilly ground...

Arms coiled 'round him like a flesh coocoon,

Lifts the laughing man above her head,

And stares at him silently for a time

Her angry grin a scar across her face;

Opens wide her mouth, then wider still, 

Until her face breaks open to reveal

A giant drooling mouth devoid of teeth

(The laughing man's not laughing anymore.)

Her instinct's taken over by this point;

She is a predator, and little else.

The demon in her coils tries wriggling free,

But not before she lowers him to her,

Mouth wide, dripping with acidic spit,

Emerald eyes glaring, happily.

He thrashes harder, but it's of no use;

She's far too strong to let him get away -- 

And once he realizes that he's lost,

Along with realizing what she is,

He panics, letting loose a primal howl,

Right before her giant jaws snap shut.

The acid in her mouth eats at his flesh,

Until there's nothing left, and she's alone. 

So tired, and it's cold and dark out here, 

All she wants to do is go to sleep,

But she can't move. She's anchored to the ground,

Her legs have taken root below the leaves.

So heavy are these thoughts of pain and rage,

How cumbersome it's been to bear it all.

Her eyes close slowly, and then disappear,

All human features lost and left behind, 

Relieved and finally free, she faces east,

And drifts away while waiting for the sun.

And here is where we leave her soul at ease;

A giant venus flytrap 'mongst the trees. 

[fin]

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015

Compatible Monsters - 9

Finally standing outside the cell doors, 

Her dress in tatters, smeared with blood and dirt,

Hair an unkempt halo 'round her frame,

Trembling, so desperate to be free.

"What now," she growls, surprised at her voice,

"The guards will be here any minute now."

A grotesque, crooked grin crosses his face.

"I'm counting on it, love," comes his reply,

"There's one way out of here -- that little door --

But going through it is a death sentence.

Rather than be gunned down by the guards, 

Let's wait for them to come to us, my dear."

He calmly strolls across the concrete floor

To the wall where sits the red alarm,

Grips the handle with spindly fingers,

Glances at her, and says, "Here we go,"

Pulls it down, and screeching fills the air. 

"What the fuck--" she cries, "We've got to run!

They'll be here any minute, for God's sake!

"Not yet," he replies. "Just about time."

She hears the running footsteps of the guards,

Ice cold panic grips her like a vise --

"They're going to find Chuck's body in my cell,

And I will never see the sun again."

"Wait," he urges. "All part of the plan."

His voice eerily calm, almost bored. 

"Just another moment, little one. 

The guards will bottleneck in the doorway,

We'll take them out one body at a time."

She nods in understanding, but then asks,

"We have no weapons, no defense,

Vastly outnumbered, and they have guns.

How are we supposed to make it out, 

Without getting shot, or even worse?

I don't think you've thought this through at all;

Or maybe you've a death wish, is that it?"

"Hardly," he replies, "If that were true,

Why would I not end it in my cell?

I've been here for years, my friend. Decades.

I could have ended it at any time,

Why choose death with freedom within reach?

No, no. I've been meticulously

Planning this for months, in fact --

Yet why not take the chance long before now?

I needed an accomplice, and found you,

So we do have weapons, don't you see?

After watching what you did to Chuck,

I knew you were perfect for my plan.

Now then, darling -- here they come at last.

Get ready, for they will not hesitate

To shoot you where you stand. You must be quick;

The game is simple: Kill, or be shot down."

Approaching her again, he meets her gaze, 

Pauses for a moment, with a frown,

Whispers, "Sorry love, but this will hurt,"

And slashes at her face with sharp fingers.

Recoiling in pain and raw fury,

The world washed in a grayish, alien green;

She screeches as the blood streams down her face,

And launches, claws out, at the narrow door.

"I needed you bloodthirsty, little friend --

Now let's see how our morbid tale will end."

----

 - © Jackson Cambridge, 2015

The Dark Goddess - 10

I've lost control. Let the darkness take over. I want to be angry with myself, but it felt so good to let go. I figure I must have passed out, because when I come to, I'm tied to a chair in the back room, mostly alright and shaped like myself again. The inside of the bar is a bloodbath. Dead bikers litter the floor, their bodies torn apart and strewn everywhere. The walls are drenched with blood spatter, there are bullet holes everywhere, broken glass and shell casings. It smells like shit, biker sweat and death. 

I'm spotless. I lost count of how many guys I just shredded, but there's far less blood and guts all over than there should be. 'That's 'cause we pigged out, boss' says the dark little voice. 'That little octopus stunt we pulled burned a lot of calories, so we had to work a bit of overtime."

Jesus. The memory of my body uncoiling like that makes me want to throw up again. I remember the sound of the baby birds with their tiny squalls that mutated into shrieking, frenzied lampreys, desperate for flesh. Blood. Viscera. My gorge rises. 

Footsteps behind me. The sexy hollow 'click' of high heels on the tile floor. Her. The Goddess. I can hear her presence in my head like white noise. 'Like a swarm of bees,' the voice remarks. I don't respond.

She sits across from me in a sheer black dress, her expression calm, slightly amused. "You ate my hive."

"They got in my way. You should have warned them."

She laughs, and it's music. "I could have. Would it have done any good?"

"No." I don't look her in the eye. If I do, she'll have me. I want her to. I want nothing else. "I would have wasted them anyway. I hate bikers."

"You hate everybody." She leans forward, her face growing nearer to mine.

"Not everybody." Behind my back, my wrists strain against the ropes, loosening them a bit at a time. "Just the people I hate. Why am I tied up?"

"I know why you're here. You want to kill me." Her expression doesn't change. She feels nothing. Nothing at all. No fear, no anger. Just cold, calculated dialogue. "Why would you want to do that, Joe?"

"Gotta kill somethin'." My wrists shake off the ropes. "Darlin', I dunno what the hell you are, or what I am for that matter, but I came here to fix this before I end up taking the fall for your body count." God, she smells amazing. Like honeysuckle.

"You're not going to kill me, Joe. We both know that."

"Oh yeah?" That's it, Dumptruck. Stall for time. "Are you gonna kill me instead?"

She laughs more loudly this time. "Kill you? After your little performance out there tonight? Hardly. No, I have better plans for you. You'll be working with a partner. Someone I know you've worked with before."

She glances at a door at the back of the office, which opens to a darkened hall with a small man's silhouette standing in it. She beckons him forward, and when he finally comes into the light, my eyes widen in shock and revulsion.

It's Weasel, but... not weasel. He looks the same (same blue suit and everything), but there's a giant circular mouth where his entire face used to be. He's drooling everywhere, gnashing dozens of teeth. Slowly, he kneels facing his queen. "Good Christ, what have you done to him?"

"I've given him power, just like I did you. You and he will be my top soldiers, and the whole hive will listen to you."

"I don't think so, lady." Her face freezes in a look of surprise as I leap unbound from the wooden chair, and hurl myself at her, letting the inner demon take over. I can feel my body changing again -- the agony of my bones and flesh reknitting themselves into horrible shapes is unthinkable, but I welcome it all. 

Before I can reach her to tear her apart (or bend her over the chair, I can't decide, Demon-Weasel rams into my side, boring into my flesh with hundreds of tiny needle-teeth. "Get off me, you tacky bastard," I grumble as I use his inertia to hurl him across the floor. I can hear his back snap like a twig when it lands. Sorry, Weez.

Furious, she hisses at me, and her body starts to shift and bend like mine. From between her ribs sprout extra limbs, her eyes grow and erupt into segmented orbs on either side of her head, and as she screams, her mouth widens and reveals long, finger-like proboscis. She is talking to me in my head. 

'Come to your queen, my Joseph. Be with me, where you belong.'

I can't resist. It's too much. I want her so badly that I can't see reason anymore. I am hypnotized by her. Soothed, teased and owned. I have a lingering independent thought (something to do with pockets), but it passes as her will over me grows. Against all will, I take a step toward her. 

'Yes, darling. Come. Come home."

I can't fight the pull. She's too strong. Too dominant. I have to be with her.

"Yes, my Goddess." 

She lifts off the ground as large gossamer wings sprout from POCKETS between her shoulder blades, hovering in front of me. Out of the POCKET of my eye, I can see long, black stingers jutting from the palms of her hands, as if from hidden POCKETS under her skin. 'That's it, baby. She holds her arms out to me, beckoning. Welcoming. I can't remember my name. It's like there are POCKETS in my mind where I keep basic stuff, like my address and phone number, but they've been emptied. In their place is emptiness. 

Nearer now. The entire room smells like honey. It's delicious, but maddening. I can't keep from moving toward her. I don't ever want to be without her. I collapse into her arms, surrendering to the comfort and safety with a deep, relieved exhale. 

She puts her hands on my shoulders, and I feel the stingers burrow into my flesh as cold, black poison fills my bloodstream. I wince in pain, but my arms encircle her body and tighten their grip. In my mind I know that she is a giant, hideous queen bee floating in front of me, but all I see is my Goddess -- my perfect, breathtaking Mistress. I can't be close enough to her.

As I feel my body weaken, she whispers telepathically at me. 'It's nothing personal, you understand. I do care about you, Joe, but I'm afraid this is the end.

I remember about the pockets now. Wrapping my long coat around both of us, I bring her in close, kiss her on the mouth and whisper back as my hands grip the fishing line I've strung through the inner sleeves and yank as hard as I can. A half-dozen grenade pins tinkle and clang on the floor at my feet. The last thing she hears before we are both engulfed in hellfire and my head is filled with the screams of the lamprey-birds as we all go together.

"My life for you."

[fin]

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

Trial of the Lilithite- 6

Ruthless waves dug salty graves,

As dozens faced their doom--

Destroyed the ships in splintered strips

To make the sea our tomb. 

The Cross was scoured and I, the coward,

Stayed right where I was hid;

I was afraid! The whole town paid

For what the preacher did.

Face down in mud and coughing blood,

the priest lay on the ground

With moan and yelp - yet none would help

(They feared they would be drowned).

Tucker sputtered, coughed and muttered,

"Children -- I implore,

Help your priest! Have me released,

And kill that gypsy whore!

Yet they refused; they stood accused

Of what was Tucker's sin,

He wanted flesh, nubile and fresh -- 

Why should they save his skin?

As for me, I had to flee:

Lest I depart this world,

Devoid of pride, I do confide:

My panic long unfurled. 

The aftermath of gypsy's wrath

Left few of us behind;

At tide's recede, the town was freed, 

Though near to hell consigned.

And I, concerned, on foot returned

To help my wounded friend,

I found, instead, the priest was dead;

He'd finally met his end.

I took to home at evening's gloam

With empty, blank expression,

Then took to quill, wrote up my will

And penned this last confession.

I, Benjamin (as writ within)

My mind and body whole, 

On bended knee, I pray to thee:

Save my immortal soul. 

[fin]

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015

Trial of the Lilithite - 5

Hung limply there, upon the air, 

With great sea wall behind;

Her lovely dress a filthy mess,

Her voice fierce and unkind:

"THOU HATH SEEN ME MADE UNCLEAN,

STRIPPED OF ROMANIPEN¹

BECAUSE OF THEE, FOUL MOKADI² --

YET FATE'S WHEEL TURNS AGAIN."

Hovering there, she said a prayer,

"DEVLESA AVILAN³;

Then her face changed, her eyes deranged: 

"BRING ME YOUR HOLY MAN."

With brow uncreased, our pious priest

Stepped up to break the spell: 

"O foulest witch -- the Devil's bitch!

I cast thy soul to Hell!"

At Tucker's gaffe, she gave a laugh

And forked the Evil Eye;

"YOU AND YOUR KIN - THIS DEN OF SIN --

SHALL BE SO CURSED, SEZ I.

THY GAJE⁴ SCUM TOSSED ME TO CHUM,

AND I NOW FACE EXILE;

MY DEATH WAS HURRIED, I AM UNBURIED,

AND I HOLD YOU ALL ON TRIAL.

OF THY SONS BORN, MY DEEPEST SCORN --

LOWER'N PIGS IN MUD;

WALLOW THUS, SO RAVENOUS,

E'ER IN SEARCH OF BLOOD.

THY LADIES FAIR, I OFFER PRAYER

TO LILITH, QUEEN OF LUST;

OF DEADLY CURVES, AND KILLERS' NERVES,

TO TURN MEN'S WILL TO DUST."

Last (not least), she faced the priest,

As Tucker faced her tawse --

I saw him damned, his body rammed

Into his wooden cross.

FUSTANGIU!⁵ BULANGIU!!⁶

She shrieked at everyone,

The massive wave began to cave,

And we began to run. 

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

----

¹ Romanipen: One's ties, investment and loyalty to Romani culture.

² Mokadi: Unclean, as a dog; 'dirty dog'. 

³ 'Devlesa avilan': Funeral utterance; 'It is God who brought you.'

⁴ Gaje: Non-Romani

⁵ Fustangiu: 'Skirt chaser'.

⁶ Bulangiu: 'Betrayer'.

Dig

Buried shallow 'neath the forest floor,

        Dozens of bodies, perhaps even more;

Terror in their wide and panicked eyes;

        Victims of a wolf in lamb's disguise.

Stacked in twos and threes like firewood,

        Bodies tangled as no body should;

Barely dressed, flung careless in the earth,

       Far less dignity than each was worth.

Deeply planted, this dark legacy;

        He dances on their graves with impish glee;

Nude, save for the webwork of tattoos,

        Moonlight's glow our killer's silent muse.

From each, he collects a souvenir, 

        (Anything that he could commandeer);

Basking in the memories of their pain,

        Until it's time to dig a hole again. 

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015

The Dark Goddess - 9

The Pipe is a huge biker bar for huge bikers. I can't stand these guys-- prancing ponies in cute little matching vests, huggin' each other every 10 minutes. Buncha pansies. They even call themselves the Road Vikings. Lame. 

Inconvenient, though. Good thing I kept ol' Patches in the trunk, though it's probably got Weasel's stink all over it. Still, I probably smell worse, and besides, my gear's back there. You don't stroll into The Pipe without a battle plan. 

Patches is a long leather coat I picked up a few years back after the last guy who owned it asked me to dance. He pulled a butterfly knife, so I took it from him and unzipped his guts with it. I think he'd want me to have his coat. Problem was, I'd cut a huge hole in the back of it when I gutted the poor bastard. BLOOD and crap all over it. Jesus. At the memory of that, the birds are stirring. 

'No,' I mutter out loud, 'Patience.'

So I gotta go get it fixed and cleaned, and Wong -- my laundry guy -- he says 'lemme fix for you, 2 days you come back. No charge. Ok?' Sweet ol' buzzard. So I say fine, and when I go get it it looks perfect, clean and all fixed up. And ol' Wong turns the whole thing inside out, and the crazy bastard's covered the insides with pockets. Dozens of pockets, some of which have more inside or outside them. 'I fix for you!' I can wear every weapon I own. Not tonight, though. Tonight's a different thing. 

I put the car in neutral and push it silently into the woods a half-mile west of The Pipe. Pop the trunk, and two minutes later I'm ready to execute the plan.

Step One is the doorman, a Prospect the bikers call Boulder because he's from Colorado. Also he's wider than he is tall. I worked with the guy for a bit, and I like dealing with him, because he's stupid. "Hey Boulder, what's happening, man?"

He takes a half step toward me and freezes in place. He can see by my eyes that this is not going to end nicely. "I can't let y'in, Truck. She knows what you're up to." His voice cracks. Heh.

"Just here for my severance pay, man."

I try to walk past. He puts his gigantic hand on my chest. I stop moving, and look him dead in the eyes. 

"Fair enough." I kick him dead in the left knee and hear it shatter under my boot. Boulder hits the ground face first and eats the sidewalk. The birds can smell the blood. They want it.  "Tell 'em I ambushed you. You'll get patched in for takin' a wound for the crew."

"Jesus Christ, man! You broke my fuckin' kneecap!" The guy's crying, for God's sake. "You coulda just punched me out!"

"You're welcome." I walk past him without a look, push open the doors and enter the belly of the beast, prepped for Stage Two: Insurance. Two seconds through the door and I'm face to face with a hundred bearded guys with matching Hagar the Horrible tattoos. I've thrown ol' Patches wide open to reveal pocket upon pocket of raw MEAT, mostly ground beef. "Hey fellas."

The birds have been craving the meat for hours. Begging me to let us FEAST. I've done everything to keep the demon quiet, and now it's time to reward his patience. I shut my eyes and will the mouths to open, and they devour the meat instantly, bursting from my FLESH in a frenzied, slurping nightmare. It's maddening, but beautiful.

I start running as my body twists and contorts, sprouting more, bigger mouths with longer, sharper teeth. I am a human chainsaw-- a rabid shark of ruthless hunger. The Vikings prepare to fight, but I'm too fast. Too ravenous. 

I hurl myself into the crowd, screaming as my limbs lose all solidity, each limb stretching and uncoiling into a mass of tentacles, each one blooming into a gaping, shrieking mouth full of row upon row of razor teeth...

...I am hunger. 

I am death. 

I have come for you.

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

Sonnet - Scarecrow

Hanging in the darkness of the corn,

Hay-stuffed, ragged jeans and checkered shirt,

Expressionless, save for carved look of scorn,

Silently, he watches them, inert.

The birds descend upon his stuffed physique,

A murder on his back, to his disdain;

Endlessly they chatter, squawk and beak --

Blind to their tresspass on his domain.

Yet, were they to leave the golden field,

Take to air and leave him on his own,

He may find his mind and body healed,

Though pointlessly, for he is all alone.

Forever silent, hanging neath' the moon,

Hoping that the crows will come back soon.

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

Trial of the Lilithite - 4

The ships hit land at my command

My orders good and loud,

Finally free from weeks at sea,

We rushed off in a crowd. 

Tucker chose some men from those

Who served aboard his fleet,

And as their boss, bid giant cross

Stand high above the street.

They drove it down, and named the town

For their beloved priest,

Measured some, and set it plumb, 

And planned a lavish feast.

Such celebration -- affectation,

Dancing, wine and song;

Yet in my gut dwelt maddening rut:

Something very wrong.

The inital breeze, from off the seas

Was pleasant, light and cool,

But picked up steam, and with a scream

Came fierce and uncontrolled.

Lacking shelter, helter-skelter,

Fleeing from the storm,

Windows shattered, equipment scattered

As air grew still and warm.

On ship I stayed, cold and afraid,

And tried to stay unseen;

With widened eyes, I watched the skies

Turn bright, ethereal green.

Yet with a roar, there came yet more --

A massive hurricane

Tore through our camps, blew out the lamps, 

With no intent to wane. 

Then came a wall, a half-mile tall,

A great and pow'rful wave;

Then came the flood -- turned land to mud,

And dozens met their grave.

From hidden hole (by my own soul),

What came next scarred me deep:

Soaked and wispy came the gypsy;

And vengeance would she reap. 

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015