There was no choice
not if we're discussing,
survival.
Tidal waves crashed
to shore.
Even the sand laden
sacks
bore the burden
of turbulence
anger, shaking
shore lines.
Grasping on a
fisherman's
net,
hands splashing.
The belligerent mood
of countries
at war.
Mother Nature
herself, a
tyrant leader
asserting
her, hostile
hatred of,
humanities
degenerative, recurrent
bloodshed.
Oceans overspill,
dropping anchor
sea salt cleansing
open wounds
bleeding, oceanic
flow.
Scarlett filled
waters,
a mouth,
fish hooked.
The choice
of survival,
gone.
A reclaimed
reign of,
terror.
Mother Nature,
she always,
wins.

© Sia Jane