Storm Chaser Poem by David Griffin

Storm Chaser
A thunderstorm brews,
Heavy rain store slows it’s flow
This injured, hungry wildcat needs to feed.

Electricity sparks within its folds,
Itching to strike down its first victim
Black, grey and sickly white.
A coat of warning.

He stands exposed,
An open field his fighting ground.
No shield, no sword,
No chain-mail to protect him in battle.

He knew it would arrive.
He had been warned.
An ancient intuition said run.
He had time to flee,
But no, he was drawn to the danger.
For a brief time he was a storm chaser.

Now he was afraid.
What should he do?
Run. Faster, faster.
Get shelter.
He found his haven beneath a granite overhang,
For now.

Why did he not see this place sooner?
The storm could have taken everything,
His life, his soul, his substance.

He watched the storm pass,
Admired its beauty and now he understood.
Storm chasing is only for those who have nothing to lose.