The violence of thunder to come

 

Take in the silence,

the inviting silence.

The quiet solitude

of a nightfall horizon.

The wispy clouds swooping

into dreamy waves.

Enjoy the way the daylight fades.

Ignore the sound in the distance,

the violence

of thunder to come.

 

See the way the colours change.

Green to deep blue. Marooned

in this island solitude, only lit

by the shiver of the moon

falling in fractured slivers

over the grassy view.

Ignore the red smears that

streak through your thoughts.

The light fear in the air

that fizzles with hate.

Ignore the leer of menace

that permeates the atmosphere.

 

Sit for a second.

A brief existence flicking by.

As the silence of that

 

tick

 

is followed

by a static hiss,

an alarming sound, ignore this.

Sit in bliss watching the

moonlight kiss the oncoming dawn.

The most devastating storms

always arrive as humanity sleeps

away its fears.

 

For in this second of tranquillity,

all sits peaceful, easy.

The wind whispers breezily,

as the nocturnal animals

feed hungrily,

ravished, famished.

 

Shaken.

 

The air tastes metallic,

but the song she sings feels

uneasy, for she sings of terrors

to come, tragic warbling screams

in static haze, London calling

a late, ghostly warning

shaking through the airwaves,

the pounding ache mistaken as

flames licking the sky in one final

dance as daylight awakens

to the annihilated scream

of the flaming sun

and the blinding light

when all is

 

 

 

gone.

 

Enjoy the silence.