A poem
The sky bruises in mercurial shades
as thunderheads muster their forces.
What began as innocuous puffs
now tinctures the horizon in moody indigos,
drawing the horizon’s ring ever tighter.
A palpable unease settles over the world,
as if the very air holds its breath
in anticipation of some grand overture.
The clouds swell, awe-inspired and imperious,
throwing fretful shadows
that scuttle across earth like portents.
Rowdy breezes wrap round ankles and wrists
with ghostly fingers, whispering of gathering might.
Leaves bear the brunt of these invisible fists,
turning over in gestures of supplication
as the first rumblings reach
like dark hands from the vaulted firmament.
Nature’s great drama airs its first thunderclap
in subterranean profundo, shaking the bones of the audience.
The cast is prepared to take their places
upon the blasted heath of barren skies,
cumulonimbus asserting its rights as the lead.
Those wispy cirrus, filigreed understudies,
pale at the prospect of sharing cosmic stage and curtain.
Even the birdsong stills, holding its collective breath
for what portentous notes shall carry next
upon the storm’s impending wings.
The deluge marshals, towering aslant in ponderous arras,
hemmed about with backlit tawny fringes
that speak of untold internal luminance straining at dissolution.
All elements conspire toward resolution
that shall rock the mundane world.
Unveiling beneath the vault’s shadowed architraves
portends untold states of transient grace.
Though fleeting, it promises to strike
with fury uncompromising and wholly transcendent.
Worlds entire shall bear witness to its ephemeral glories
before the storm at last expends itself
toward calmer airs.
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