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
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