THE STORM

It reaches down like an unearthly hand
Like the sparks from some ethereal welder
Spits down from the skies like an arrow
She stands, silhouetted in the window
Drawn like a moth to this supernatural display
Of power, as it tears across the landscape
An awesome, white stallion, prancing
Tossing its head and rearing up -
Crashing to earth as thunder, clouds his mane
Hooves of fire, eyes of light
Gallops across the hills, he is
The Storm

She stands still as his hoofbeats fade
Into the night, and falls the rain
Which follopws the stallion in his path
The droplets, hoffbeats of a thousand mares
Following him in a mob of might
For the white stallion exudes power, he is
The Storm