Supercell
The clouds are strange today
As though their particular darkness doesn’t belong
Their winds blow sour, and cool
Even in absence I can sense them
Watching, waiting,
Eager to devour tomorrow
An onset of things unnatural,
My nerves are distilled in expectation
As their silence lingers
Where storms should be,
But emptiness
Nothing is normal
Stratosphere moaning
Something’s arriving
Atmosphere droning
No rain
Cold thunder
Low sound
Only the creaking swells
As divides are crossed
And worlds,
Merged
Welcoming the hosts and hordes of men
As last light grazes the tip of sky,
Waiting to be snuffed out
And replenished by starless night
The silence shivers
Who would be one to wonder
Of all things expected and understood
What inky blackness has invaded our skies,
Questioning the dark miracle of blameless gods,
Asking only, naively and withdrawn,
“For how long?”
And our sweet, defiled sky can’t help but to cry out
A mad chortle of her succession
