I’ve always loved lightning; the raw power of a lightning bolt is a beautiful and terrifying sight to behold. Here is a very poor tribute to these potent and beautiful acts of God, and the powerlessness of humans before the lightning.
You frolic in the field, unaware,
Not noticing the subtle shift in air,
Then watch the wind rise, rushing like a colt,
Announcing the arrival of the bolt.
The day turns into dark, the rain pours down.
Rush headlong from the field lest you drown,
Then hear the very air roar in revolt,
Protesting the raw power of the bolt.
The thunder crackles from a cloudy sky,
The storm-lord picks his target from on high,
Then feel your frail body bear the jolt,
Endure the fiery glory of the bolt.
A surge of lightning ripples through the veins,
Short streak of fire leaving lethal pains.
Then smell your blackened skin, observe it molt,
As you take on the essence of the bolt.
Collapsed upon the ground, twitching in woe,
Rendered immobile by a shocking foe,
There taste the aftermath of every volt –
Brought low before the power of the bolt!