The Pressing Storm

I listened to the thunder, and I saw the lighting flash.
I look on with wonder as the clouds and planet clash.
The battle of Arcadia meets our very own Earth.
In a fleeting flash, they connect: the sky and the turf.
The bolts of luminosity strike down, like fingers reaching for the world.
Next to that beauty, I am projected; captured in a whirl.

Despite the danger of this raging storm, I am not afraid.
Nothing else matters, and so it comes to fade.
I am alone with my precepts, the roaring of the sky.
Fearless, freed, confident – grounded, pensive, lithe.


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2 Responses to The Pressing Storm

  1. Brian Faulkner says:

    A meaningful storm, reminds me of the time I stood exulting on a huge boulder in the middle of Central Park during a lightning storm; just me, the dark gray, the bright flashes, the deep roar, which I wanted to be louder. I really like that “in a fleeting moment—they connect”.

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