Storm

The hypopomic thunder lights the sky with sound, Standing outside, letting little drops of heaven reach your head. As the clouds roll in, they turn blavk and gray, As if an old fasion movie is playing in the sky. The wind howls at me, And the drop of heaven soon turn into pelting hail, raining to the ground, suddenly, a flash, a crack. as if the limb of a tree was snapping a shriek i look down to fine myslef lying on the col wet sement ... motionless