Tornado Stories

Spin so much I can’t see past the funnel.
Think I’d prefer to be down in a tunnel.
With debris that cuts my skin is so scarred.
Not things I thought I’d have to regard.
But darkness is terror and I’m not drawn.
In the depths there are things said to spawn.
Marred surface upon which we once stood.
Never have I had the all clear that I could.
Instead been twisting at the heart of a storm.
Not something to which I’m truthfully drawn.
Yet life is better when you can live.
My mind is not empty like a sieve.
If it were I’d be long since departed.
Rather I have only just started.
Study is but a part of the process.
Complex like a game of pro chess.
Answers could come at any time.
What I would give to cross that invisible line.
Gaze upon the surface of our home.
Perhaps even take a while to roam.
If only ancestors had not ignored each sign.
Then everything would have been fine.
Instead we are trapped up in the air.
Surprisingly there is not enough space up here.
Research continues as does the ticking of days.
The more I work I realise this problems a maze.
Yet I refuse to throw in the towl and admit defeat.
Doing so would only condemn us to a state of obsolete,
And with systems failing our home will decline.
To such a fate I cannot accept or resign,
Our community has braved centuries to stand,
Have their feet against actual land.
And when the day comes to signal that victory.
I will be stood shoulder to shoulder with everybody.

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