Face of the Storm

I see the angry visage of the storm.
Her breath lashes harshly upon my soul.
Rage, flashing deep blue in her hazy form.
She screams wildly, her voice out of control.

So beautiful, her countenance of grey.
Dark, roaming across the heavens, pouting.
Mostly hiding the brightly heated day.
Sometimes whispering, other times shouting.

What has so aroused her indigination?
Was it mankind's crimes against her mother?
Striking out in full retaliation.
Malignant stains, it does promptly smother.

And finally, when she has abated,
Her mother earth is left clean and sated.