Clouds

The first time I heard of tornadoes
was in a story in the fourth grade.
They were green-tinted,
fear-painted,
unstoppable,
inevitable.
I looked them up and stared
(in horror)
at the tumbling tube of terror.
The second time I heard of tornadoes
was in a documentary on TV;
two tornadoes danced around each other
in a single field; not touching
but they didn't have to.
I was already afraid.
I have always been afraid.
Tornadoes have always frightened me;
perhaps because you cannot hide
from them.
They make you watch in awe
in the most gruesome of ways;
when the lips of the clouds
urge towards the skin of the ground
it is almost beautiful.
(Except destruction is never beautiful.)
It does not need to touch
and it still destroys.
I am still afraid.
But when it does touch
and it feels, too,
all hell comes crashing down
and you have no hope.
Perhaps that is why I avoid you;
you destroy before you touch.
You don't need to touch.
(I am already afraid.)
But at the eye of the tornado
there is calm - 
and perhaps that is why I need you;
because you do destroy
and you do not need to to touch
but at your center, you are calm.
Perhaps that is what all love is;
perhaps that is why I am afraid.
But alas, tornadoes are inevitable
and so is falling in love with you.

The End

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