Building in the distance,
an anvil shape forms,
a sudden booming ringing,
as thunders hammer pounds down.

The fading sun is obliterated,
blacked out by flowing clouds,
moving with a willful force,
its power becoming obvious.

Electrical sparks, miles long,
golden streaks toward the ground,
impacting with destruction,
an ancient tree explodes.

Proud now of its process,
it whips itself into a frenzy,
twisting wind swirls and swirls,
into the finger of a god.

The finger thumps the countryside,
it reloads and thumps the town,
booming laughter after each of its
fancy flaming flashes.

As the sun comes up,
the clouds burn away,
the fingers trail is obvious,
traced a path of devastation.