Poetry
sound of lightning, sight of thunder
sensing the sky
It tears the sky —
a flash so brutal,
it rips through silence
with a scream.
The world stops,
suspended in time,
for just one breath,
caught in the grip of something
too fierce to name.
The air — sharp,
electrified,
crackling with an anger
that doesn’t ask permission.
It doesn’t care.
It is the moment before the storm,
a pulse of nature
racing through the sky’s veins,
pounding with wild energy.
Then —
the sky shatters,
a jagged streak of light,
so bright,
too alive —
it rips through the dark,
lighting the world.
For an instant —
everything is visible,
the earth, the trees,
the very air itself
shivers with something ancient,
untamable.
And just as swiftly,
it fades.
Thunder follows,
rolling through the air,
a deep, rumbling echo
from another age,
whispering,
“I was here.”
And then — gone.
Silence returns —
but it’s changed,
charged.
The sky hums,
waiting for the next strike,
for the next flash —
a spark of defiance,
reminding us
we are but fleeting,
beneath something
eternal,
wild
Leland Chen 2025
