Apoplectic Calm

Like a statue, a man, sitting on rocking chair stared on in silence.
His outer demeanour, calm as the eye of his own personal hurricane…
…as around him the world was set ablaze in fire and brimstone.

Smoke from upturned wrecks now cloud once clear sky.
Already a pong of death clung to the air, yet the man cared not…
…as his kin ran for their lives.

Not one solitary creature would notice his strange demeanour.
Not a soul would ask patriarch why he abandons what cherished once was.
None but he would claim to know the slight that was made…
…for it was mad man’s eye, that roamed courtyard that night.

Foul and fawn ran befuddled in frenzied struggles for freedom.
None would survive the onslaught of zeal and fervour.
Nor did the man believe he would survive, his fate was sealed…
…as he sat in silence, waiting for the death rows of his labour.

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