Lighting strikes but once in a life,
to survive alone can give one peace,
knowing that you've beat the beast.
For lightning does not know its power,
it's time of strike, nor the hour.
Just that it will end with ease.
It's nature's way of release,
of ions built up in the yeast,
of the brewing storm.
Where heat and cold come to clash,
and mighty winds do sheer,
to strip the charge from the earth,
and twirl it in the air.
Until the difference becomes too much,
and the two forces attract,
ever onward, with no going back.
The flash of lightning rips the air,
and crashes in a sonic boom,
that shakes the earth to its womb.
And all below come to fear,
the lightning's fiery path.
Striking all, large and small, without wrath.
Splicing atoms in its heat,
lightning gives an acrid treat.
Nitrous oxide in the rain's sheet.
Fertilizing the soil beneath,
nitrogen for plants to feast.
Full circle for the mighty yeast.
To harness its mighty power,
men have tried but failed to flower.
The time has come for that hour.
When lightning takes its rightful place,
As a workhorse for the race,
That will take us to the stars.
Photo Courtesy Paul Hadfield,
near Forsyth, IL NOAA
More Poems
My Place
Read War's End, the Novel
Copyright 2005 © Ronald W. Hull
7/31/05
Photo Courtesy
Ruth Lyon-Bateman
NOAA