Lullabies of Thunder

The sun has taken a day off,
sleeping in blankets of silver
while the Earth dances a slow pirouette,
like the venerable ballerina she is, on her axis.

I ponder the grayness
while thinking of haiku to pass the time,
wondering of what the sun dreams
during its times of solar slumber.

A rose awakens,
blooming with the kisses of dewdrops
caressing her brow.

The heavens softly weep.
I know not whether for joy or sorrow.
These tears of God are shed this morning,
but the land and I are cleansed and nourished.

The fabric of the sky is rent
by sudden streaks of violence
that shatter the peace of my reverie
and threaten to unsettle my soul.

Sabers of lightning
duel throughout the morning
to sate their anger.

Their fury sends fear to my heart’s threshold,
but it finds the door safely barred
by the still waters of the Spirit’s serenity,
keeping me untouched by disquietude.

I find lullabies in the thunder,
and the sleep of newborns follows
into a realm where the storm dissolves
within the calmness of God.