Sunday, 7 July 2013

The Storm

Flashes of lightning split the sky
Tears from heaven, cold wind racing
We huddle around a dancing candle flame
The wavering light meagre protection
Yes, we will weather out this storm
And there will be tales to tell

Outside, the roar reaches a crescendo
The patter on the panes a million drumming fingers
Begging entrance, held off by thin slivers of glass
How the wind howls its anguish at our denial
But there is naught but evil intent on its mind
It wants to thrash out and extinguish our sanctuary

Eye to eye we sit, the wavering shadows dance across
Unsmiling faces. We each take turns spinning tales
Of haunted houses and things that in the dark... bump
Our pacing is terrible, the suspense, unbearable
Every fright made the more terrifying
When thunder punctuates lightning slashed exclamation points

Morning finds us entangled in our own private dreams
Sleeping bags and mattresses scattered on the floor
The shed skins of slumbering serpents
Where the night before, cocoons of safety and warmth
Brave now, in the morning light, we can guffaw
And deny that our hearts raced last night, primitive fear

Ah, how innocent and childlike we were that night
Held by the pall of riotous stormy weather
And captives of the dark broken by naught but a pillar of tiniest flame
In whose brilliance our trust was total
I cannot wonder, with the wild eyes of speculation
What fate might have befallen
Had the flame puttered into waxy smoke
And the fingers at the panes became tormenting fists
And drove with full fury into our tiny lives
Invading our sanctuary

Of course, such fancy is lost
In the golden rays of glorious sun
Forgotten, at least
Until next time