As I lie awake,
Listening in anticipation,
Of a coming thunderstorm,
That so far,
Has remained quiet ~
My thoughts wander.
To many things I am prone,
But they lack the severity,
Of this particular tendency.
Any moment now,
The rain, herald of storms,
Will descend.
A window is a meagre shield wall,
In the face of such archery,
But I will have to make do.
As I kill the switch,
And darkness falls,
upon this house bereft of electricity…
I can almost taste the static,
The charge building up in the air.
This, is what calls to me.
This primal roar.
This, is what taunts my desire.
I am prone,
By the majesty of the Thundergod’s ire.


About Fredrik Kayser

Everything is connected.
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