The storm.

The thunder rumbles
as unseen lightning strikes.
Flashes illuminate the world,
in blinding clarity.
The rain sodden rainscape
burned into a permanently clear mental image.
The wind lashes about my face,
striking at every angle with cold needles.
The storm picks up.
I am all but drowned in my own senses.
Yet I can see hear or feel nothing...
Nothing, but the storm.
The needles are driven now,
by a million angry hands.
The lightning appears suddenly,
then slowly fades as real as it is evanescent.
The wind urging me forward then suddenly
placing it cold wet hand on my chest to slow me.
All these swoop from the heavens
to either fall around me or rush by me.
The storm stealing all the worlds color
except blue-black night and white-silver light.
The rainscape seems constantly to blink
between one unreal dimension to the other.
With neither rhyme no reason the storm continues,
unimpeded, undeterred, and unstoppable.
Though chaos is in its nature so is peace and rebirth.
I feel no hate towards it nor malicious intent from it.
We simply exist at the same time and in the same space.
So I stand and listen to it whisper and roar.
Learning things I couldn't know otherwise.
Thanking whoever will listen for the miracle of which I behold.