In the Pause Before the Thunderclap
Veins of lightning shoot across the clouds.
A dark heart is beating strong behind that ashen shroud.
The wind bends the marching lines of rain.
The water churns at the riverbank like lapping tongues of flame.
A flash and it all goes black.
In the pause before the thunderclap,
I wonder if the night would be any less alive
if I fell into the water rushing by.
I cast a candle's light about the room.
The paint is curling on the walls like frozen smokey fumes.
Dusty papers cover forgotten shelves,
books unwritten strewn on books unread.
Copyright 2012 by Dan Bach.