Thunderstorm

A flash.

A split second.

Just a moment in time.

Then the dark, encompassing all.

The darkness boils from within.

The anger palpable.

It will by stopped by nothing.

Nor allow passage beyond it.

Only occasional flashes

As its angst and hate spill over.

Spearing and piercing the black

With its wicked slash of light.

Oh, but the light is just an illusion.

Let it not fool you.

It is not light

Nor an escape from the dark.

It is an extension of the malice

Slicing through to strike.

Guttural voices emit from the surrounding blackness.

Rumbles of anguish and spite seeping from within.

Echoing despair and malevolence.

Seething with wickedness.

It builds.

Growing.

Until the sorrow of all whom it has wounded

Pours in a torrent from the soul of the gloom.