Root Causes

The storm, its artlessness is sickening
In a cycle, it comes with an air so cold,
Nothing could miss the inevitability;
The big trees are uprooted
And the smaller fellows lie listlessly
Drifting and swaying to the direction of the wind
On the ground, atop one another
All the tribulations lie in the root now,
So is the trial, even before declaring guilty.

Time is confusing;
Wait for more storms rough,
The world knows they are
Caught in a time warp;
With no storm ever
lately approaching
Eternal dry air
almost suffocates;

But then, would they be charged for weakness
— When the world wants only direction;
When they have been uprooted so ruth?
In the courtroom of unknown masters
and planters and loyal dogs and craps.