Bitter Bliss: A Poetry Collection

Perfect Storm

Skeletal trees pierce the monotony

of slate-grey sky, 

sun obscured by clouds and smoke 

on the bleak horizon.

There are no shadows

but black fog swirls and pools

around the thorny underbrush.

A flattened patch indicates

where a sly fox once slept.

But it, like everything else

in these haunted woods,

was infected and turned savage

before the parasite cast its host aside,

left to rot under a log in a dry streambed.

The infection tore through this small copse

recently, no spot spared.

The trees down by the fetid ponds over the ridge

weren't spared, either

The tox is merciless, 

the perfect example of a perfect storm.