In Thunder Poem by Eoin Smith

You grip my hand tight,
Afraid our world might end
In an instant.

High above;
Above the moon and the stars
Tempestuous gods
Spit and snarl their discontent.

The uneasy air,
Flooded with pain,
Is filled with the sweet stench of the
Impending storm.

We huddle together under the bleak night sky,
My arms surround your shivering frame
As the cold rain falls around us.

Together, we will see this through.