In winter
He could never get far enough away
From the rage
In the back corner of the closet
He would cower
The soul shredding voice
With sledgehammer words
Roared below
Like thunder on those dark stormy nights
Never knowing if it was getting closer
Never knowing where it would strike next
Each heartbeat fed that fear
That the door would be ripped open
And the monster would be standing there
Ready to devour
The remanants of his soul

In summer
He could run out the door
And hide in the tall grasses
Alone in his forest of refuge
The rage could not stop the grasses
From growing
Nature held his soul
It was all he had
But it was his....