Lightening

A charred, blackened tree

Fine sand melted into glass

All once stood in the path of lightening

So fast it’s hardly visible

It strikes in half a second, yet leaves enough ruin to last for months

In the middle of the pounding, icy rain and roaring, whipping winds

When the gray clouds fill the sky and block out the sun

In the middle of the storm that tears trees from their roots and turns on their sides

This is where the lightening strikes

So rare it can hardly be sighted

Yet dangerous enough to kill a man

Lightening is a thing of horror and fascination

One minute, the sky is dark and desolate

Then a fork of blinding white light flashes for a split second

The next, angry thunder shouts, blind and furious

Lightening is oftentimes blamed for destruction

Only because it’s found in the midst of wind and hail

Lightening injures few, and kills yet fewer

Is lightening truly the thing to blame?

Lightening is a thing of wonder

In the sunless and dreary sky

Among dark gray clouds and cold, wet winds

A fork of white plasma lights up the sky

Terrifying, yet strangely beautiful

After the storm, most residue remains

Wisps of charcoal clouds stay in the sky, diamond raindrops still fall from trees, wind continues to blow

But of lightening, nothing remains

All traces of shockingly bright electricity have been wiped from the sky

Light and brightness are often associated with happiness and joy

With lightening, the light has come to mean pain and destruction

The streaks of blinding electricity inspire terror

The white brightness means fear