Tumult of Currents

The wind is bending the wood
 green clothed branches wave
 clouds race 
 grey white confusion
 bustled by the tumult of currents
 leaves will fall in shades of brown
 cold rain 
 will wash them into earth.

 Old foundations are fracturing
 in the stone halls of speeches 
 tired elders 
 squabble and snipe
 old men's prophesies they shout
 predicting the weather will change
 dark winter
 chilled by winds of little change.

Ciaran Burke