"Summer Storm
Wind, soft at first, but with gust.
The smell in the air of something wild approaching.
Hands held on a porch swing.
Clouds heavy, pregnant with intent.
A tin roof. Waiting for its moment.
For memories made.
A summer storm.
Wind, no longer soft, but steady in its excitement.
Air stirred into a tumult.
Two bodies, a hungry embrace.
Lips pressed, framed by flashes, captured moments.
Thunder, soft rolling, growling acrossed skies.
A summer storm.
Wild breath, crashing of power that shakes the ground
Sensations no longer hungry but insatiable.
Lighting no longer teasing the air but violent in its decent.
Synapses, overloaded with revelry, saturated with...
Thunder.
Thunder that rattles windows and uproots
Worlds.
A summer storm.
Clouds, passing in the night.
A moon smiling as the tin roof rest.
Memories and love made.
Dancing wild lights on distant horizons.
Rumbling echos of eternity, telling tales of a moment.
When celestial bodies met.
A summer storm."
The Bard set down his quill, confident that he would read it again in the morning and toss it out as he often did. His sharp eyes sagged as he lay upon his straw bed and thought.
"It may be a good interlude between songs at the tavern." He said to no one, "The old drunks always get sentimental when the drink hits right."
Wind, soft at first, but with gust.
The smell in the air of something wild approaching.
Hands held on a porch swing.
Clouds heavy, pregnant with intent.
A tin roof. Waiting for its moment.
For memories made.
A summer storm.
Wind, no longer soft, but steady in its excitement.
Air stirred into a tumult.
Two bodies, a hungry embrace.
Lips pressed, framed by flashes, captured moments.
Thunder, soft rolling, growling acrossed skies.
A summer storm.
Wild breath, crashing of power that shakes the ground
Sensations no longer hungry but insatiable.
Lighting no longer teasing the air but violent in its decent.
Synapses, overloaded with revelry, saturated with...
Thunder.
Thunder that rattles windows and uproots
Worlds.
A summer storm.
Clouds, passing in the night.
A moon smiling as the tin roof rest.
Memories and love made.
Dancing wild lights on distant horizons.
Rumbling echos of eternity, telling tales of a moment.
When celestial bodies met.
A summer storm."
The Bard set down his quill, confident that he would read it again in the morning and toss it out as he often did. His sharp eyes sagged as he lay upon his straw bed and thought.
"It may be a good interlude between songs at the tavern." He said to no one, "The old drunks always get sentimental when the drink hits right."