Lightning
Pure energy. Raw, angry, flashing across the night sky
Like a child throwing its toys from the pram
Lightning cannot be held, not even in a bottle.
I feel it in me, a part of me, the anger
Pouring blue lightning from my fingertips
That beautiful flash of sky painting
Gone in a millisecond.
Yet the image remains on the back of my eyes
A moment longer. A memory for me to keep.
I feel energised, ready to take on anything.
The storm continues
Painting pictures across the black clouds
Veins from a dying leaf
Roots from a dead tree
Finely feathered fingers of a butterfly’s wing.
All this magic from two clouds colliding energy
Drawn from Earth, meets that from above
Thunder like the beat of a thousand drums
Fills my body with pure sound.
After the storm, magic can still be found
In the silence that remains…
Anita Dawes
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