The wind blustered unopposed,
as if pre-empting a storm ahead,
colourless scowls and tempest dreams
aspired the darkening sky,
and inside a petulance,
like the turbulence about to come,
an anger pent up and not released.
Mirrored, these emotions,
as the storm amassed, expanded,
and both fear and dread somehow
filled the shadows,
in between the flickering firelight,
as time slowed to barely a beat,
and clouds had begun to rage in white light streaks.
Just before the thunderous claps,
an ominous silence, as if the sky collapsed,
and then in frightening release
the voice of God in vengeful woe,
bestowed its exacting measure
to all below,
and we cringed in fear of its power.
Blackness filled every nook,
and the firelight diminished,
stifled by an airless weight,
as the storm unleashed its fervour,
expressing a dark-edged spite,
shaking ill and fear adhered,
to bleed its held back tears.
Soon that shaking waned,
and anger seemed to fade,
as darkness allow a little light,
the fire stoked and growing
brighter than before,
now it seemed a better light,
cleaner without the spite of woe.
Perhaps the storm exists alone,
a mirror of all we show,
when fear abides our every thought
and love is buried far away,
we see not the calm that follows,
just the damage in fear we’re prone,
when light awaits our acceptance.
Tony DeLorger © 2018