The Tempest

The storm. Tempest.
Thundering through speckled shades of Earth,
Square blocks of lightning slice through bolts of ice.
Beating the roof it says: “I hate you but you are mine!”

Light running into ground,
Burning soil creatures
and bringing tears to the eyes of plant roots tangled in winding worms.
Let the Lord remind us of His existence.

The split skin of the Earth shows something beyond,
And as I tumble into that silver,
My breath is taken and put to better use.
The jolted hum of land things,
Swept into the air and whipped with nature’s instruments.

They cascade like falling stars,
Meeting obstacles for the first time
And screaming through the collision.
Until…one hits me,
And I lie quietly, breathlessly, on those bloodied tiles.

The storm moves.
The murderer.
The omen.
The wire in the air.