n. the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to waves of rain pattering against the roof like an argument upstairs, whose muffled words are unintelligible but whose crackling release of built-up tension you understand perfectly.
(Source: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)
.
the curtains (translucent white cloth embroidered with spiraling vines, lavender flowers blossoming--) are drawn---(back)
(i should be sleeping, but my thoughts are wide awake)
a writer stands alert, dark, telling shadows beneath eyes in front of a transparent window
verdant green notebook pressed against internally dry but externally raindrop-strewn flat substitute for a desktop, pen in hand, device ready to inscribe on lined paper with its lifeblood of black ink
11:35 PM.
tock tick tock tick---
and rain descends like crystalline stars falling, missiles descending in enormous sheets, embracing the earth, battering, pelting every surface in sight
pouring from the indigo sky as if something had evoked an emotional breakdown, heavenly tears spilling mercilessly from weeping eyes, heaven's fury raining upon the streets
in such immense quantity, the liquid rebounds from the ground, rolling like tidal mist upon the anthracite-hued asphalt, as if the ocean had made its claim on land itself, roaring as freshwater seas down metropolitan paths, creating mist, ephemeral fog.
the sound of trickling, gurgling, streaming down gutters and manholes into depths of the sewers, washing away impurities upon the surface of the world and leaving something far crisper, sweeter behind in a deluge of sound and rain water---
"sky juice," she murmurs laughingly, but the audience is only she herself in the far-from-silent night.
the rush, the influx of rain is relentless, and the streetlights shining amber through the gloom never sputter out.
the wind howls, a ferocious, untamed beast demanding to be let in, let me in, let me in, tendrils pounding at windows whistling through the pandemonium, demanding, shrieking, furious, and she watches on, a spectator in a magnificent display of nature's wrath.
and lightning.
how it fills the sky illuminating suddenly and vividly, intense, filling the streets with the light-- blue-white of crackling electricity, leaving afterimages---
(not unlike the flash of a camera yet intensified by the power of a thousand)
the shush, rush-rushing, yet another influx of precipitation---
once-twice flash-flashing, like a paparazzo in a frenzy, and---
like a cannon, the shot that rang 'round the world it
BOOMS
resounding, the sky splitting, a roar that shatters the peace of the world, rousing mothers, fathers from their slumber or insomnia, accompanied by the raging, frenzied wind in a cacophony--- or perhaps symphony?
echoes, resonating through the dusk.
she does not fear, no, only smiling, a gradual upturn of the lips in a smirk of satisfaction.
the tempest rages on.
and the curtains close, and she descends back into the realms of sleep.
well.
eventually, she would, but until then
(she turns, shifting upon her resting place)
she could listen to the harmony and discordant melody of the world, lulling her asleep even as the sky splits and clouds rage, left in the tranquility of her dreams.
the sky shatters into two in an exhibition of celestial light and she closes her eyes.
YOU ARE READING
a litany of ruminations
Poesía{poetry collection} s c a t t e r e d dreams and drifting thoughts, oh, not everything is what it seems... (not necessarily from my own thoughts)
