Thunderstorms
By Lawrence Langman, Army
Writing Type: Poem
By Lawrence W. Langman
--Portage, IN
As clouds churn and the storms begin to brew,
lightening pierces the skies, each one a new debut.
Like spider webs of neon blue, electric in the air,
reaching out to the unknown, showing its own flair.
Followed by a rumble that sounds like a raging train,
building up in its intensity, ruling up in its own domain.
Windows shake upon the earth like the ground is alive,
letting go of its ferocity, lunging forth as tenacity strives.
Like a symphony of percussion instruments, echoing afar,
followed by electricity flaring from the strings of a guitar.
The sky changes colors like a chameleon blends its shade,
moving rapidly across the heavens on its own crusade.
In a flash it happens; the raindrops fall down to the earth.
I’m sitting by the fireplace, hearing their powerful
torrential birth.
I can picture a conductor standing way up in the heavens,
waving a baton like a magic wand, leaving such impressions.
As fast as it arrived upon you, the air has become eerily still.
The rain has receded upward, bringing forth this morning chill.
The air smells pure like the planet has started a new beginning.
Nature has aided the gods, cleansing some of creation's sinning.
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