by Grateful Fyn
In an odd mood of late
Storm clouds gather once again --
blue-grey cumulonimbus rise and swell
but stay stationary. Condense, compact.
Lightning flashes searing pain.
Only makes the grey go darker still.
The pressure builds, thunder erupts.
Tears fall, pelt the ground
to puddle, flood. The overflow
washes away nothing.
Yet a depression sinks, collecting
Not even the rainbow
colors my world.