The letters, they swirl.
     A word here,
                          a sentence there.
                                             They spin, and they spin.
Every so often,
               one is thrown.
                                                         ­          No placement,
                                    no rhythm,
just discarded.

              From a merry-go-round,
                                         it becomes a carousel.
Quickly advancing,
                                                      ­       into a tornado -
        the disaster thickens.
                                                       ­             Building, and building,
                                                      i­t continues to collect,
               as it tears a path.
No safe way to release,
                                                        ­    all that madness, has consumed.
                                            No beauty to be found,
            in the wake of the aftermath.
                                                      ­No way out of the destruction,
                                                    ­                                   that brews silently.