Matchsticks in the Wind
Mankind, and what we build,
In the rage of nature, no matter how strong,
Or how big, but matchsticks in the wind,
Never set to last that long…
Concrete and steel, twist as if mere sticks,
Yet Adobe, mere straw and clay, holds strong in the storm,
The former built not for earthquake or wind,
The latter, able to cope with design and form.
In Clonfert, a small village few have heard of,
A twister came, few days before Halloween,
Tore trees that had withstood hurricanes before,
Smashed them as if twigs, left a horrific scene.
Some folk lost their homes, glad to have kept their lives,
More saved theirs by lying on the road,
As around them a fury for a few minutes roared,
Left a scene like a disaster zone unexplored.
On the other side of the world within a few weeks,
A typhoon struck, on a much greater scale,
Than a mere twister, itself a freak of nature,
Across a nation left destruction’s trail.
Defies description, a like over here unknown,
In the tens of thousands, deaths of women, children men…
Yet they shrug it off, while the fiercest one in a while…
It happened before, it will again.
It is life life, and is a cliche to say,
Its not the storm, though it may be bad,
Its our acceptance and resilience to bounce back
That tells the power that the storm it had.
While the winds blow, in storms of nature and life,
That is their moment, their horrific hour,
Our response, how with it we choose to deal,
Will deny it its lifelong power.