A Collection of Short Things

Cumulonimbus

A/N: If this doesn't make much sense, that's fine. It doesn't make much sense to me either.

Clouds in the sky drifting slowly by,
Blue peeking through them too.
Rain splattering down, fast as a train,
A rainbow spreads across the sky, fully on show.

The grass moves, through it wind can pass
The dew drops are forming, a large gust storming,
Through the plains, small drops increase in size as it rains.
In the sky, for all to see, a very dark cloud from behind a tree,

It moves and shifts, getting bigger and larger, covering and blocking the blue,
That once dotted the sky, now mostly shades of grey.
Rain falls heftily on the plains, diluting the morning dew.
The sun arose from its corner once, at the beginning of the day.

The Sun is no more visible than the brain inside your head.
Through the plain the horses gallop, leaving their unique tread,
Imprinted in the muddy earth slightly immortalised but only until
Another creature passes through the same place as the horses, standing still.

Looking to the horizon for any warning, of any oncoming storming,
From the heavens above us, infinitely large yet not so to be unable to see,
Unless a storm approaches be it physical, social, mental, unique and special.
Its power incalculable, its damage unknown, all that can be said is it IS going to home
In on someone, somewhere, at some point in time, but its victim shall not be just one.

You see, no storm is without collateral damage, physical storms swipe at and ravage.
Mental storms are more isolated but can still kill if its victim is frustrated.

Social storms spread faster than plagues, but not as fast as sound,
Most will be unaffected but those twirled around by
The issue will be tormented by its glare and nuisance, as if in a hellish waltz,
A salsa of suffering, a Charleston of calamity, ignoring your wants
To stop and rest, but you'll be strung along, your feet brimming with aches,
Conscious for days, stuck in a daze, unable to make
Sense of your surroundings, but eventually you'll collapse.

You awaken as usual, no storm to be seen, but you feel its effects, as clear as a scene in a TV soap plastered on a crystal-clear screen.

You regain your bearings in a familiar land, but that's all it is, familiar, it's warped slightly, changed forevermore, by the tiny storm that caused so much gore.

Not physical, there were few fatalities, but the storm has passed and you return to your duties.