Thunderstorms

I bow to Heaven’s gate, as the bowels of Hell are opened.

Slowly rolling clouds of black, surround a sunless sky.

In the distance, the grumbling of Natures displeasure,

Tuned to the sound of menacing claps of explosives.

 

 Ever pounding against the sweet green grass below, the Earth, quakes,

And Hades displays, that it, too, holds the power to cause the  planets to quiver.

Slowly, intermittent sun, peeks through the forbidden sheets of black,

The destructive power wanes, and the eye of God once again prevails anew.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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