"Devastation" - Bahamas AI Art
©A. Derek Catalano
After the Storm
The sky turned bronze, a fevered, sickly hue,
Before the great wind claimed the world it knew.
It came not whispering, but with a tearing roar,
A thousand fists against the fragile shore.
The ocean rose, a frantic, hungry thing,
And broke the vows that gentle waters sing.
Homes built on hope became a splintered wreck,
As nature pressed its boot upon the neck
Of this small jewel, where laughter used to dwell,
Now echoing the hurricane's fierce knell.
We locked the doors and prayed the walls would hold,
But morning dawned upon a tale untold.
The day arrived, but brought no golden light,
Just silent, sodden ruins in the white
And heavy air. The sea had claimed its due,
A field of wreckage stretching into view.
We saw the roofless skeletons of steel,
The wounds that time alone can never heal.
For in the debris, where the water lay,
Were gentle souls the tempest stole away.
The count of loss was whispered, low and deep,
A shared, profound, and solitary weep.
The act of God had left its cruelest mark,
And plunged the island into endless dark.
But sorrow cannot build a broken wall;
The memory of ruin can’t be all.
From scattered lanes, where grief began to cease,
A few emerged, the fragile dawn of peace.
No single voice commanded, yet we saw
The ancient wisdom rise above the law
Of self-preservation, fear, and pain—
The simple knowledge that we must remain.
A neighbor reached for timber, wet and vast;
A stranger helped secure a lifeline fast.
We must all come together, mind and might,
And turn our backs against the endless night.
The storm sought to divide and make us fall;
The rebuilding is the sacred, binding call.
We cast aside the differences we nursed,
And put the needs of community first.
For every hand that lifts a sodden beam,
Re-weaves the fabric of the shattered dream.
We join as one beneath this cloudless dome,
To make the rubble rise into a home.
No longer just survivors, weak and worn,
But architects of a new life that is born.
The work is heavy, tedious, and long,
But in our unity, we find our song.
We gather tools to rebuild and reshape the land,
A hammer in the spirit, held in every hand.
We search for purpose in the daily toil,
Restoring bounty to the bruised, brown soil.
With every nail and every fresh-laid stone,
A new vision of our future is shown.
Not merely to restore what used to be,
But build a fortress of resilience, strong and free.
To take the lessons from the sea’s harsh sting,
And forge the strength that only trials bring.
The spirit, tested by the raging gale,
Is what defines the moment we prevail.
We rise above the tragedy and dread,
And honor those who mourn with hope instead.
The broken heart acknowledges the pain,
But chooses joy with the returning rain.
The outlook shifts from what was lost today,
To all the beauty we can clear away
The dust to find. We are the stubborn vine,
Whose roots go deeper when the storms define
The space it stands in. We overcome the fear,
And promise to ourselves to persevere.
The island wakes beneath a sunlit sky,
And hears the echoes of a heartfelt cry:
Not one of anguish, but a cry of will,
That beats within the silence, standing still.
This is the promise whispered on the breeze:
We are the masters of our destinies.
Though fate delivered an unyielding blow,
The seed of courage is the thing we sow.
The path is steep, adversity is vast,
But we hold firm, our faith securely cast.
This island rises, proud, defiant, bright—
We never give up until the final light.
©A. Derek Catalano/Gemini
Related poem: Annuder Hurricane Comin'!
Related poem: The Storms of Life
Related article: Bahamas Hurricane Report
Related article: The Bahamas: Climate Change - Effects and Preparedness
