Thursday, October 15, 2009

A Passionate Storm





















Walking into the field I see it, high above.

Far off in the distance it looms, eerily,
as if warning those nearby of impending destruction.

Do you see it too?
The thunderstorm that is nearing?
The demon in the sky?

The cloud towers high into the atmosphere.
It has blocked out the light.
The sun is not coming back anytime soon.

I hear, in the distance, a rumble more powerful than the hungriest of stomachs,
a thunderous last warning for all in its path.

I can feel the wind blowing towards the beast,
like a vacuum sucking life out of the air.
It is fear mongering, yet awe-inspiring.

Darkness ensues.

I hear the rush of the wind,
that bristles through the mighty oaks,
and dances with the prairie grasses.

Closer it comes, speeding, devouring, and destroying.
I am mesmerized--I cannot turn away.
The beauty is indescribable.

Standing tall, with my arms stretched outward, I welcome its arrival,
with enlivened emotion.

The swoosh of the wind comes forth,
violently knocking me to the ground.
Intense flashes of light overwhelm my vision,
while deafening booms, to my ears, mute all other sounds.

I stand up again,
though not for long.

Convincingly, the storm shows no mercy,
ripping out the oak trees as if they were weeds,
twisting the houses into nothingness,
and sending the rubble my way.

I am hit.

Rocks, branches, and apple-sized stones of ice.
My consciousness hibernates,
sending me into a deep, fantastic state.

I am the thunderstorm.
Tantalizing, yet breath-taking,
destructive, yet beautiful.
Unstoppable and bluntly honest,
while graceful and mysteriously hypnotic.

I am the thunderstorm,
treating the rich and poor as equals,
plants and animals, alike.
Offering drink to thirstful species,
and refreshing temperatures to those who overheat.

I am the thunderstorm,
changing landscapes faster than the mightiest of bulldozers known to humankind.
Playing fifty-two-card-pickup with... Cars.


Then again, I am just one little, short lived thunderstorm.
Nothing more than a cloud in a vast, blue sky.
Dieing as quickly as I formed,
vanishing into the night,
never to be seen again.


My limitations exist,
though my potential is enormous.



I am the thunderstorm.



- Teddy Grahams

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