On but a blissful day, quiet and still,
The trees have made their way
For a heavenly sound, going miles around:
A storm on a cold spring day.
Its whispers so gentle,
Its tone so very soft,
Its gentle showers hurried around
By the looming clouds aloft.
Its frigid warmth, it comforts me,
I embrace its thunderous beauty.
The sounds of their harmonious cries
Never seemed quite as moody.
The thunder roared on throughout the day,
And lightning followed along.
The water soaring from the clouds,
Washing away all that’s been wrong.
I lend out my hand to feel the tears;
The rain rushed to embrace my hand.
The tears of the sky were not in vain,
As they carried their sadness across the land.
Mustn’t the lords release their rage?
Send down rain as sharp as spears?
Mustn’t they feel the pain we feel?
Our anger, pity, and fears?
The clouds grew darker, maniacally so,
And surrounded all the trees.
Its growls so loud and torn with thunder,
Whilst lightning struck with ease.
The wind howled greatly in my ears,
Yet I was torn between
Whether it was malicious laughter
Or an agonized scream.
