Storm Poem by Fiona Schwartzinoff

Vast grass spreads before me, an endless sea,
Turning red and violet in the blazing storm.
The wind blows, burns my face
The rain falls, pricking me with its liquid arrows
Which pierce beyond skin and into the deep chambers
Of the mind.
Dark grey sacks of clouds are thrown
Against the darkening sky.
But I run on,
Through the storm,
Through the rain,
The wailing of the wind,
And I laugh.
An ethereal world is illumined for me
In the ghastly moonlight.
The trees quiver warnings with fear,
The wind weeps on a distressful a note.
But I run with joy.
The danger drives me onward,
The darkness paves my way.
The violence of the storm
Is beautiful.