the owl

I came back to play with this; 

I am not
the peaceful owl
sleeping
inside the raging storm

I am the tempest
seething blackness
blinding charcoal
that clouds my air

I am churning, ruptured
jagged lightening
edges chewing
shredding heart, liver,
bowels carving pieces
of mouth, lips and tongue
when spoken of

I gag on flesh, and blood and teeth
my voice the sounds of thickened liquids
overflowing raw trembling flesh
shouting thunder jolts my bones
smashing like dry branches
crushing and grinding the broken ends
the sharpened shards slicing muscle

I search for the owl's tree
old and steady
small and unafraid
but he is not visible to me
my soul the shredding thunder is
lost among pewter clouds

very raw, very intense, incredible imagery!

----- just wandering the maze of hallways in my bent mind!