I wait for moments like these,
Where nature seems to muster strength,
And forces older than humanity itself,
Converge upon this place.
When summer heat turns to furious cold,
Heavy clouds gather over leathery ground,
And all our yearning thoughts turn skyward,
As the very sky tears itself apart.
We lay quietly in the night,
Windows open as precious droplets dance,
Lulling is into a dance of dreams,
The gray sky cooling our sun-worried bodies.
Between rolls of thunder and coursing streams,
Secrets whisper between shifting trees,
What stories are being told only those who listen can hear,
As lightning briefly illuminates existence.
But nothing truly compares to those moments,
Where you find yourself upon a monsoon’s threshold,
Before the deluge touches down,
And your skin tingles with knowing what will soon be.
Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.