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Slowly,

The Hurricane started.



She came into their home,

Playing a “victim”,

Causing disharmony amongst MY role models.



They did not know,

That they were my hero’s.

They did not know,

I adored each of them,

Mentally, spiritually…even sexually.

But I kept my distance.

THEY were meant for each other.



They radiated love,

From within themselves,

         To each other,

         To friends,

         And to all those they called “family”.

They gave of themselves,

Sacrificed for the other,

         For their friends,

         For their community.



They were the picture of wedded bliss…

A rose in God’s own flower garden,

That He alone took special pride in.



I was once warned of the Hurricane too,

         By her sister,

         By her mother,

         By her old boyfriend,

         By an old girl-friend.



My life sat in ruins,

For a long while.



After this Hurricane left me,

After I fell victim…

I wrote constantly…incessantly…

Sending my words to my beloved friends.

Including my hero’s.



I languished,

Thinking my hero’s did not like me,

Or even respected me any longer.

But that was a perception of mine at the time.



Of course, I did not tell them in any uncertain terms,

How I had felt about them….and I sat a long while in silence.

Tormented by my own loss,

                       My own loneliness,

                       My own rage,

                       My own hurt,

                       My own sorrow,

                       My own grief.



I felt raw as if bludgeoned to death.



But then,

As I just recovered a bit,

From my ordeal,

Getting my life back,

Having things in order,



Then the Hurricane walks into MY church,

With my hero, on her arm.

I thought it was a power-play.



Yet, I DID NOT KNOW…

My hero’s could not have listened to my words—

My lengthy bundles of poetry.

Because the Hurricane,

My old flame,

Was already in their home.



I reeled back in shock,

The day I figured out that it was true,

My hero’s had broken up…

And one became victim to the Hurricane.



Just like a Hurricane,

I found scatterings.

Just one name on a contact list,

A photo in a dating ad,

The return address of the Hurricane on parcel,

Sent to MY ex-wife.



I am numb for myself,

Grieving another loss.

I am bracing for my hero to come to me,

She will want to know,

All the things of the Hurricane…

What was it she fell in love with beyond

    The Delusions?

              --Erotomatic (sexual)

              --Somatic (physical)

              --Persecutory  (threatened by law, or stalked)

              --Grandiose (thinking enormously of oneself)

    Her PTSD.

All this is confirmed.

The experts had no reason to continue the exam…

Being military,

You don’t put a gun in a hand,

Of people whom you think are out to get you…

Psychologically,

That is within the uniform and without.

The military, could not be responsible for allowing deaths,

Caused by friendly fire—when they knew the risk.



But upon investigation,

From the cities the Hurricane has hit,

The devastation left behind…

The hurricane picked up the debris,

         Of Schizotypal Disorder,

         Of Borderline Personality Disorder,

         And Facticious  Disorder.



This hurricane hits,

Once, every nine months.



It has taken me five to recover.

My hero has five to six months to go, if that.



Now, I have not only built my house farther up the hill,

But my heart is no longer within eye-sight,

                         No longer on my sleeve.



I’m an admirer,

And I keep in contact with my hero…

The one who survived the hurricane.

And I am waiting for the one who fell victim…

I pray that perhaps, one day, they’ll come back to the middle.

And “choose” to let their relationship outlast Hurricane Lynn.



Who knows, maybe I’ll end up being their hero,

Just because I recorded the facts…the story…maybe they’ll see—

That Hurricane Lynn is a force,

Even she is incapable to harness or maintain.

And they’ll look beyond her…

As if she is just another Wrath of  Nature’s cruelties.