Astraphobia

Astraphobia

I was
Cozy and warm there on my sofa
Yet you
Would not quiet in the late hours of night
Cornered
I sit here, this wooden chair
My perch
In this drafty, shadow filled kitchen
I am
A sort of prisoner of the war waging outside
My face
Lit by one candles light
My eyes
Stare fervently out the slider
Pleading
With the shifty rain
Pouring
Through warm air and dark skies
Filled
With back lit clouds
Your reply
A thin white light to touch the soil
Leaving behind
A deafening clap of echoes.