5- 25- 09
The sun sets, turning the sky into a classic photo of reds, purples, and violet-blues.
In the distance a light flashes in dark indigo clouds.
Thunder sounds off, calling the rain to fall.
A breeze builds up across the prairie, filling noses with scents of rain and sweet grass.
Heart starts to pick up speed.
Another flash, quickly followed by the clap of rage.
A smile spread across my face as the wind sweeps a drop from the fury and it lands on my face.
Suddenly a bolt, brighter then the sun places itself right next to a swirl of clouds and dust.
Soon the race begins, the winds pick up, going from sweet whispers to angry wails.
The motors complain at the punch of the gas.
Computers click and whirr, while rain makes everything a blur.
In the storm now, the simple flashes becoming blinding lights.
Low rumbles turning into raging claps and roars of protest.
The lower of clouds and dust soon approach, only to slowly wither away and become no more.
The winds die down, the rain slows.
Flashes become less and less, and roars are muted.
On the horizon the sun leaves behind splashes of violets and blues.
A promise that tomorrow will bring better news.
YOU ARE READING
Collections of The Soul
PoetryA series of poem collections I've written over the years. Writing has always been a form of coping for me, so some of these have trigger warnings.
