What if a tornado took me to Oz
and left Dorothy brewing at Aunt Em.
Wet meets dry, spinning clouds, throwing thunder,
and I’m off the ground, light as a feather.
Would you even notice my departure?
No seatbelts to buckle. Just departure.
Where is that yellow brick road of such fame?
I’ll follow it, oh I’ll follow that road.
I’ll follow it until my tendons snap,
until the scarecrow saves me from myself.
Beware me friend, I’ll spin your straw to gold
and leave you a heap of rags in the road.
What a gift it would be to spin sadness,
Spin it like a tornado or a spool
to self-destruct or hide in a drawer.
But, what if there is no Oz at journey’s end?
Will I ride that wind like a blue wave
and wash up on the shores of contentment
or, will it eat me like hungry lions
feeding on worthlessness and gristle bone?
