How strange is it, that in a world where people are repelled by the very essence of a storm,
I feel welcomed by lightning,
Why is it that my eleven year old classmates screamed at the sound of lightning?
Fear lingered in each scream of theirs yet my heart felt warm, welcomed.

It was as if I was the leader and the storm my armada,
It besieges me with its roaring and I summon to its call,
Two days ago, it did the same and while my neighbors children ran inside,
I walked outside to hear the lightning thrash, its rumble, a sweet melody to my soul.

I sometimes feel as if I have power inside me, a power that I cannot harvest.
I feel it singing to my heart in the saddest of times, repairing the cracks and edges,
And in the most joyous of occasions, bringing a joy that though great does not last for eternity
It seems to me that that power has a mind of its own and it knows when and where to appear but
That when the storm calls to it, it submissively appears.

It never answers to the sound or smell of rain, it always answers to the lightning,
It doesn’t answer to the bluest of sky but rather the ashiest-grayest sky.
It makes me wonder, if the power is fire, not human fire, but rather fire of the soul
And to the storm, I shall wait for your next call.