The gusting gales rush the white-topped waves
and into jagged cliffs they charge,
foam splashing and spraying droplets of rain,
creating ripples in the wake,
while blackened clouds
of cumulonimbus signal the storm.
A sole gull seeks shelter in the storm,
but the ebb and flow of chaotic waves
overwhelm the lonely bird, as knuckle-fisted clouds,
of dichotomous charge,
collide, the thunder rumbling in the wake,
sending rays of plunging rain.
It surges and reigns
on its heavenly throne, and the storm
pushes inland: water and wind lash at homes and wake
the slumbered, who rise, as bending trees wave
wildly. The freight of wind charges,
blotting the light--an endless train of clouds.
The people's thoughts and minds cloud
as thick as the fog after heavy rain
and as they board and barricade; they recharge
and watch the surging storm.
Hearts, ambivalent, like roller-coaster waves,
but when thunder cracks they wake.
Another rumble in the wake--
an endless echo in the clouds--
as the withered-winter trees flash waves
of scorching heat, followed by the hammering rain
that drenches and storms
the homes: A costly charge.
The people drown, the storm a relentless charge,
as hell from heaven falls, gales gusting in the wake.
Slivers of sunlight struggle through the storm,
through the billowed blackened clouds,
streaks piercing the sky, reflecting and refracting the rain,
as drops become drips and nature calms the waves.
