Begone, Putrefaction!

We have awakened from our dreams,
With the smell of putrefaction,
Knocking at our nostrils.

Unseen is the putrefaction.

Still its proximity may be felt,
But with mixed reception.

The logical respect it,
The emotional deplore it,
The ignorant ignore it,
While the shrewd swear to it.

Today the winds of baptism,
Are choked by strange forces.

Today putrefaction has settled,
Unmoved in the stillness,
Lodged within the jagged cracks.

The winds are limp this helpless day,

Silent fixtures in spite of all,
While their nemesis roams the town,
Infecting the mood,
With its clammy scent.

You've won the day,
Putrefaction,
So enjoy your moment.

But our heroism is at work,
Revving the weather's engines,
And tomorrow the wind will descend,
With the anger of an army,
To drive your corruption to the dirt,
And the shrewd to the hills.