deepundergroundpoetry.com

Inevitable Storms

The lowest bass of thunder rattles the windows, loose in their sills,
Dried, curling, peeling white paint flakes free and floats to the floor,
The door, hanging uneven from age and overuse, stands open,
The air tastes like electricity, delicious in a forbidden and dangerous way.

I quietly slip out onto the creaking, worn floorboards of the front porch,
The sky is painted the color of intrigue and mayhem,
Surreal greens and purples with a sickly pale yellow cast,
I nod imperceptibly, this shall be all the warning this storm provides.

This storm promises destruction,
The temperature plummets leaving steaming breath,
The gusts of wind blast against this unstable structure,
Then sudden eerie silence deafens as wind dies and thunder pauses to catch its breath.

Insatiable curiosity begs me stay upon the warped, wooden porch,
To greet this calamity and experience its force,
Until the blackness descends, robbing color and sight,
Only the slices of racing and fractured lightning for companionship now.

This is the time to seek cover.
This is the time to snap to senses that have been hypnotized by the storm�s intensity.
This is the time to realize the full import of what is coming.
What comes from this silence will shred and tear this world apart.

Like a child I run and hide,
Tucked safely within the tiny crevices of myself,
Drawing heavy patchwork quilts over my head,
I hold my breath and pray the storm may pass and leave me whole in its wake.