It’s been a bit stormy lately. After several days of beautiful picture perfect hot weather, … the inevitable storms moved in. It reminded me of this poem:

 

Tempest

 

With furrowed brow and knuckles white

I rode the tempest of the night.

 

It scattered shards of glass

upon the sheets as it did pass

 

and stomped its way across the grass

throwing knives and spitting ash.

 

It spoke in mumbled rumblings

and whispered far-off thunderings.

 

I hid in shadowed passages and

watched the flash of light.

 

It granted me a moment’s breath

and as I dashed an inch from death

 

It smacked me on the back-side

and I heaved a shaky sigh.

 

I groped in hopeless wandering

and as I stood there wondering

 

The tempest whipped the horses

and leaped up toward the sky.

 

Its distance comforted my fear

and then I wiped away a tear

 

And settled back into my bed

and then exhausted, hid my head.

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum