I have always loved the wind
the way it makes hair flow,
and wind chimes, chime
and trees sway.

But that same wind that makes trees sway
and hair flow
and wind chimes, chime
makes cars flip and roofs tip
and the temperature slips.

The same wind that makes hair distressed in pictures
makes sure houses’ bricks are stricter.
There is a chill in my bones cause
I know those who can't go to their homes
the grass ripped from their grasp.

The aches that this wind caused
can never be viewed as mistakes.
Lip quivering and shivering
barely able to convince her to leave the
withering mantle with a candle behind.
Under the rough and rubble is
a young man with barely any stubble.

The memories of the people
are turned into documentaries.
Like these people are accessories
to the crime of the centuries.

These people have a voice
but some feel they have no choice
but to talk about the train rattling
in with the paddling rain.
But there was no train just wind and rain,
Just the tornadoes that seemed to come in straight rows.

The gray tones were all that was left
besides gravestones made to the shape of children's homes.
They say there hasn’t been one this bad since the 1890s
tell that to the people with lost shoes
that have to choose between
getting to chew or if they can snooze.

Over 90 people were killed
imagine the way their family shrilled,
the way they used their distilled wills
to calm their chills.

The way that unskilled but willed people
try to rebuild.
Should fill me with hope but nope
the way they scope for smoke
just to find their families have croaked.

I have always loved the wind
but when the clouds start to rumble
my mind winds up back to the rubble
that destroyed lives
in that short amount of time.