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Swirling masses of cloud
booming, thunder loud
Crackle, snap, lightening splits
violent, entertaining, hits

Striking, coming back for more
a meteorological, act of war
Fallen trees, flooded land
hopes, dreams, all at hand

Tornadoes, hurricanes, waterspouts
gales, torrential rain and power-outs
Below sea level, or on top of mountain
it doesn't matter, what we count in

Before the storm, there is a lull
after storm, nature's cull
Storm passing, deep sigh, relief
taking stock, of weather's grief

Above the clouds, skies are quiet
always blue, a sunshine riot
Storms are grey, instead of blue
lending perspective, in our residue

New day dawning, turning page
breathing quieter, through our rage
Without the light, there'd be no storm
to rise us up, from which we mourn

Storms are sent, to help us know
that everything, needs to slow
Like day and night, we wake and sleep
from what we need, and want, to keep

Learn more about this author, Jon Coe.
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