Eye of The Storm a poem by jimmythejock

Relentless the storm approaches,

devastation in its wake

many are killed and the killing goes on,

buildings are demolished and piles of rubble are the only reminder that they

were ever there,

children lay wounded in the street blood pouring red on the tarmac,

the storm rages on and god forbid that you are in it's path

for it will surely be your end

.

In the eye of the storm he sits,

in the eerie silence,

sipping champagne and smoking the finest Cuban,

the smug grin on his face tells the story,

in the distance a whisper is heard,

"Can we come home yet?"

He answers in his over smug way

"Maybe next year, just before the Election"

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