The adrenaline rush.
Standing. Waiting. Watching. Breathing. Feeling.
Deep breath in.
White stripes. Blinding white hot stripes against a deep gray backdrop.
Momentary blindness. Darkness. Death.
Deep breath out.
The first strike.
Lightning.
A hammering heartbeat.
A soft rumble.
Stones tumbling down a mountain.
White hot stripes flash against a deep gray backdrop.
Like a bowling ball, slowly at first, then all at once.
It's the collision, conflict, breaking point.
Thunder.
A small, dark circle on the pavement.
One, two, three, four, five. Too many to count.
Plopping from the cavernous sky.
Tears from the dark depths of clouds.
Coating everything head to toe, whiskers to tail, root to branch.
Immersed in liquid life.
Rain.
The ring master of the whole charade.
Dancing with the trees, tripping them.
Forcing charcoal cotton balls to pick up the pace.
Whipping their tears into into walls, windows, windshields.
Sometimes gathering cyclonic force.
Brute strength.
The renegade leader, sweeping left, right, up, down.
Not sure where its allegiance lies.
Wind.
A violent disturbance.
Angry atmosphere.
Lightning.
Thunder.
Rain.
Wind.
Violent and forceful.
Majestic and beautiful.
Tumultuous controversy.
Storm.
YOU ARE READING
Of Humans and Kings
Poetry"With her firestorm eyes and her watery soul It dripped away in pieces, no longer whole" A collection.
