The bloom of static,
Punctures dark and ominous
Rain-filled cloud.
The voice of the storm.
The flash of power,
Everything frozen, suspended
In monochrome.
The colour of the air.
The crash of thunder,
Rumbles deep and thrumming
Inside cold bones.
The cry of the sky.
The boom of fire,
Sears bouquets of scars
Upon wet, singed skin.
The mark of the spark.
The petals of contact,
Open out like hands, pleading,
Bleeding in this rain.
The touch of the storm.
The silence before the dawn.
© M.H.
Marc's poetry and musings 