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Poem

The edge of sky engraved in horizon, a somber slate, 
as on the wings of surging storm nimbus clouds ride. 
For the spent golden sun to go down they don’t wait, 
unleashed, in rampant rage they well up  and glide. 

The mute monolithic sky is shaken, shattered asunder, 
peels of ebon pile descend in molten deluge of torrent. 
Encompassing emptiness quaked by seismic like thunder, 
flames in forked flashes in a fraction of time transient. 

Cracking lightning blazes in the cold motif of azure fire, 
lazuli light leaves the lingering sound to languish behind, 
strikes me with deafening wave, rattling the layers of air, 
burnt to ashes by the flashes that make me almost blind. 

The sound sinks in the quietude of deep introspection, 
the sapphire light shimmers within my serene essence. 
The lilac lining of consumed clouds kindles my vision, 
my soul immerses in cosmic bliss in the stream of silence.

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August 2, 2022
For A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Contest

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