Can't you see the tiny storm cloud
With it's thunder cracks so loud
Feeling the gentle rain caress my skin
A thousand tiny kisses felt so deep within
To pirouette between the drops
Quickly losing all the agonizing thoughts
Spining and changing with the wind, a tango of prefect grace
I taste the rain upon my lips, as the lighting splashes light across my face
An exceptional balance of beauty and the beast
Absorbing the fierce energies release
Dancing in the storm's sweet rain
Relieving the searing pain

I laid on my bed and watched the storms last night
Seeing the beautiful lightning such a wonderful sight
I didn't even mind being there alone
I guess the loneliness I've out grown

The lightning struck so much my room was contant noon
And the thunder just kept rolling like one melodious tone

I lay across my bed
With the window at my head
I love the fragrant smell
When the storms give it hell

I watched it storm for hours
Wishing I could draw upon it's powers
Just how awesome would that be
To have people cower before me

I dreamed all night long of storms and thunder
It tore my dreams asunder
But in the morning light they where gone
And now I can't wait for them again to come along

Nothing scares me more than inspiration stampeding towards me
I can feel her coming on like lightning bolt
As I sit in the distance eyeing her songs and poems and sonnets and anecdotes
Spiraling with great effort towards me
She has given me a net and a silk floral dress
For she has grown weary in the heavens
Living as idea and essence
Preferring a life of the palpable
To walk amongst the lay of men
To sleep within the threads of a woman
And yet I can only feel the chaos of her wash upon me,
As I throw her net into the great gulp of her eye
And I capture nothing but the pure feeling of
Her wrath in between the seams of my silk dress.

When the rainy gloomy day
From the gray clouds weaves the arch,
When the heaven of lead acid in the silence
Floating to us vast object,

When the foliage discolor,
And the cries of birds can be heard barely,
And thousands of hums seas
Denunciations from the heavens stronger,

When the winds are changing rules,
And hit the backhand in the discord,
And the air, woven from the the needles,
Sparks all over the blackness,

Suddenly a flash split the day in two,
And the lightning sparkle the bridge,
Connecting the heavenly home and the ground,
Showing the miracle of burning fire.

The earth trembles,
Trees shake from their vary roots,
A flash cuts through the sky,
Wind carries a grunt of god, himself.

Children crying,
Dogs barking,
Sound can be heard from every direction,
White as paper is everyone's complexion.

Silence follows,
An eerie feeling sets in,
Waiting for another,
Listening carefully.

Is it the end?
Or shall it continue?
Can people finely rest?
Or are we forever doomed?

I spend all my time,
All my money,
And most of my remaining sanity
To stack together this perfect house.

Little pieces all fit together perfectly,
But there are thousands.
It feels like I could never, ever
Count that high.

I strain to hold it together.
I didn't think to get glue.
I'm about 1/4 of the way trough.

These matches break so easily.
I start to think I litarally brought the ******* matches available.
One wall falls.

I want to shout as loud as I can.
But I imagine what the finished product would be.
I'd probably have your name in books.
Multiple ******* books.

I rebuild the wall.
I push on, I don't stop until night fall.
I'm about half way through.

I take a cigarette break.
I look back on the hours.
I mainly remember the ****** parts.

A few cigarettes later I push on once more.
I build until late morning.
At this point I'm are about three quarters of the way there.

I again take a break,
Only this time to stay in what I have built, but not continue to build it.
I think back.

Why am I making this house of matches.

Why am I even here?

I remember your vision of the house.
I see you still have hours of work,
Easily stretching till dinner time.

The question is do I finish and stay at the house, or do I go home to make a nice meal for myself?

I went home.

When I came back the house was burnt away.
A frail, blackened frame remain.
No amount of good duct taping could fix it.
No amount of new matches could clean it up.

I still see the ash pile in my mind from time to time.

Next,
I tried a house made of fuses.

you say i'm funny
because i prefer rain over sunshine 80% of the time
it's no joke to me though
because rain could mean thunder
and the thunder brings a chance of lightning
and the electricity reminds me of that night with you
my hand tingling because of your tight grasp on it
i laid on the wet pavement
quoting Walt Whitman
you sat with closed eyes listening to the rain
and me

the lighting didn't strike me fast enough
before the sound of my heart cracked