Acid Rain

This rain must be acid,
For it burns my eyes like salt,
Forges my hair grey anew,
My painted smile is corroded,
Along with the light heart that evoked it,
Contentment withered by sulphuric clamour,

Every impact sears a new trauma,
Acerbic emotional pollution,
Misery by a million raindrops,
My skin hissing under their tumult,
All hints of joy are contaminated,
Yellowed and scalded,

The sky wouldn’t see me happy,
Drenching me would not prove cruel enough,
So I am subject to this burning at the stake,
Flaming torches in each sour drop of dew,
I’m eaten away,
Degraded to this mournful industrial waste.

Thunder Play

A thunderstorm is a play,
Did you know that?
Those bolts of plasma that soar earthbound,
They’re actors to be perceived,
This storms dramatis personae,

The lights in the sky,
And encroaching rumbles,
They signal the curtains resonant opening,
To an applause from the very clouds,
A million little diamonds rushing down,

The bolts immediately commence their dance,
Spiralling and arcing and coalescing downwards,
Lighting up even the darkest night,
Mother Nature sends these dramas to us,
As equal parts frolic and show of force.

Eastern Front

Under thundery skies of white,
Came the rumble of tracks,
And the boom of gunnery,
A boreal front is rent open,
An iron cross enclosing upon an eastern jugular,
Hammer and sickle on the backfoot,
Surrender was no option,
And so flesh was ground against iron,
The blitzkrieg was on,

Two flags spiral around each other in dispute,
Cities and fields become their shrapnel market,
Lives were the currency paid in full,
But both fate and snow had other ideas,
The winter came to its sons aid,
Freezing fuel and choking soldiers in grey,
Another weapon against the iron cross,
Like the little emperor before,
This evil could not weather the winterstorm.

Lifestorm

We are all a storm,
Raindrops one and all,
We are aqua,
Fluid,
Changeable,
Gravity nips at our heels,
All of us,
From princes to paupers,
Some indeed raise above the masses,
Lifted by warchests and oil drills,
But even they veer towards ground,
Ones altitude in life means nothing,
This is a storm,
We all fall together.

The Great Misery

I see it,
I feel it,
I wish it were a nightmare,
But it is manifest,
I spy it on the horizon,
Across waters not yet disturbed,
A miserable stormfront,
Foreboding in the heavy air,

This storm alludes to future pain,
Bolts like thrown tableware,
Humid air like the tension between foes,
Thunder like the lashes of expletives,
Clouds and lights like eidolic billboards,
Lamentation in arcing lights,
It waits in the distance,
A reminder that the great misery beckons.

Scorcher

The sun is a tyrant,
Thermometers were its heralds,
Yet we still opened our windows,
Below these beams of radiation do I reside,
And my willpower is stripped from me,
Melted down to perspiration,
Burned to cinders,
Scorched beyond recognition,

I am a wickerman,
Burned to X’s and O’s,
Sandcastles have become my skin,
Sweat has become my lifeblood,
My breath has become a menagerie of spices,
Made pink by the skys hatred,
I am scorched,
As are we all.

The Downpour

I stood there judging the sky,
Wondering what it all means,
The grey answers back in spite,
Scorn upon the clouds,
A copious downpour of rain descends,
Speaking in tongues,
The scent of fresh lawn and dew rises in chorus,
It burns my eyes,

This interaction draws on for hours,
It collides with insults upon asphalt,
A cacophony drowning out my thoughts,
Thunder quakes distantly joining the orchestra,
This blue veil the downpour has laid over me,
And the chills that comprise it,
They whisper in my ear,
Who am I to judge the sky?

Red Dance

In these scorching months,
Me and the sun continue our samba,
It’s this crimson dance we do every year,
Me and that solar predator,
Nuclear in her vivacity and brilliance,
Our dancefloor is the open blue sky,
My skin gripes in the heat,
Painted red in the radiation,

I don’t scream,
Even as my flesh sizzles,
The mercury rising is the chorus we sway to,
I’m a glowing one,
This summer dance cannot go on long enough,
I revel in the swelter,
My sweat only the toll I pay,
To not feel the grip of winter again.

Summer Fulfilled

The fickleness of spring gives way,
The temperature rises,
And with it comes the anticipation,
Hope for this year,
And the trees samba to a thankfully cool breeze,
As we rejoice around the barbeque,

Sunbathing and sunburns,
Beaches and azure waves,
Picnics and chilled beverages,
These temporary heavens,
I adore them all,
These hallmarks of a summer fulfilled.

World Alive

Spring is come,
I see it in the daffodils legion beside the road,
I feel it on the warmer zephyr,
My ears heed the throng leaving hibernation,
The smell of fresh grass graces my nostrils,
I taste the cordial breeze upon my tongue,
My senses can perceive the shift,

The world comes to life again,
Shaking off the frosty mantle,
Bringing its head above the snow finally,
Taking a long-awaited breath,
Its veins bearing aqua unfrozen once more,
Like an archaic blade reforged,
The world exists anew.