The Thunderstorm

Drip drop drip drop whisper rush rain.
Tilt head, taste heaven, laugh to no one in particular.
Pouring now, melting clothes, running people fade.
Darkened sky, the lightning shows’ spectacular.
Feel the rumble tumble thunder that an artistic God has made.
Drop drip drop drip rushing rivers slip through cloudy drains.

Thunderstorms give birth to hot chocolaty mug filled hands
And feet filled socks tucked comfortably into warm pajamas.
Knees to chest and mug to lips if only for its steamy blanket on chilly cheeks.
Blessed aloneness while surrounded by the company of the only One who truly understands us.
Smell the moisture gentle mist rolling softly onto the porch that will be glistening now for weeks.
Face illuminated by the white hot lightning branching across the night painted lands.

Fade to Sapphire then to black, a ghostly image of the bolt still dances in front of my eyes.
Feel the rumble in my chest shakes the land shakes the sky.
Who put the pen to this masterpiece that I alone am hearing?
Who holds the brush that paints the strokes that I alone can spy?
Who authored the storm that tells the tale of life and love in a way that’s so endearing?
Master poet, Master painter whose script and canvas are the skies.

Drip drop drip drop whispered rain is hushed
Lower head, thank heaven sigh to no one in particular
Tilt cup, final vestige of chocolaty memories drip cool upon my tongue.
Pause on the threshold of the safe haven where no thunderstorms may pass for reasons inexplicable.
Remember the rumble tumble thunder from the song a poetic God just sung.
Drop drip drop drip soft I slip into pleasant dreams with my soul no longer feeling rushed