So vivid the lightning the storms wrath,
Chaos and destruction journeying its path.
Thunder echoed, the hearts loudest beat,
No shelter, no hope, no chance for retreat.
Wayward stones the darkness of midnight calls,
Never do well a chance to end it all,
Thistles and thorns jagged edged teeth,
Lightning of steel striking the forest beneath.
I can hear the mourn from the trees,
Savage winds bring them to their knees.
Stands of ancient oaks once tall and proud,
Their treasures gone as they crash against the ground.
Leaves swirl in the air, they twist and turn,
The meadow dark destructive burn.
Fire. Lightnings tongue lashes the dead oak,
The hottest of flames, gray ash, thickened smoke
“Run.” I think. “Run.” But alas I cannot,
I have not the strength and the ground is too hot.
Mercy please my fear is much too great,
And I stayed out here much too late.
The rains…they come. I can hear steady flow,
Faster and heavier a deluge. I must go.
The fire is dimming now the smoke turned to steam,
I awaken in my bed warm, dry, and it was all a dream.
© Cynthia Clark