The Floods

Barely contained terror tide
wells up and floods my walls.
Panic engulfs this
typhoon-tossed leaf.
Swept hither against my will,
these waters will not settle.
I shove my sandbag shelter,
praying for a hole, a crack.
My walls are solid sand -
mountain 'strong' am I.
Harmonies soothe my turmoil,
calm and peace is mine for now.
The sandbags always loom higher.
The monsoons always return.