Of the coming flood.
If it were but a storm cloud, I might have survived it.
It is the quaking of the entrails that says it isn't so.
The thunderheads were building far longer than I'd
Thought to recognize; I tell a lie, than I would admit.
It is raining here now though, with a churning fog.
These clouds have eyes, and they scan for meat.
I wonder if I'll be so cold when I am snatched away.
It could too be a blessed mercy, turning to icy stone.
Was that the thunder? If you count these seconds
You could tell me how long I have before I am done.
I wonder if it will be an instant; one brilliant flash...
Or agonizing plummet where I can feel every inch.
Onward lightning, I dare, strike me down in brilliance.
I want to savour the crackle of charring flesh on bone.
I'll just lie still awhile, shall I, as all my thoughts writhe.
I willn't bother with 'I told you so' and nor should you.
I feel the torrent now, so I must shield my face awhile.
The sky is darkness and lightning has turned; red as blood.
When I can drink no more of it, you'll stir the pot for me
So I see your face lastly as the tides pull me down below.