Thunderclap

The rolling time

Passes by,

As quickly as it dares.

The unending sky,

Its rain it cries,

Without a single care.

And not possessing nonchalance,

It drifts back to the air.

As if its power it seems to flaunt,

Yet the clouds remain bare.

Within this witching hour,

A gathering it seems,

Exists in the throng of clouds,

An illusionary ream.

Beholding in this drift,

Lies a yellow spike of light,

Withholding a significance,

Nothing ever was so bright.

Zigzagging through the universe,

It streaks across the earth.

The sound of a thunderclap

Marks its definitive birth.

The life of this power,

Is infinitely small.

Yet more eye-striking

Than any mountain tall.

Now the dome of blue is on fire,

Like a heart aflame

Dreaded be any man

At the end of that blame.

The rolling time

Passes by

Without a single care.

For each cloud is a challenge

Each thunderclap a dare.