Power Storm

Power Storm

A grey mouth has swallowed up the sky.
It booms with maniacal laughter
Spits saliva on the roof
And dashes hail on the flowers.

It roars with a wind of dominance
And the trees cower from their regal throne
in the heavens that once caressed the space between a leaf and twig
With blue and occasional rustled whisper.

It bellows now,
Bickering the black branches
Into a writhing frenzy,
The turbulence of submission.

But chaos is restless
And soon tires of its lighting displays of authority
Preferring to leave a showering of sticks
And cautious bird call in its wake.