STORM OF PASSION

 

 

A vivid flash of light igniting sapphire studded sky;

The rolling thunder growling, like a tiger in full cry.

The fury of a million raindrops, pounding overhead.

Foretold in graphic warning when the morning sky was red.

 

Now the tempest gathers impulse as the night is closing in;

Like the power of my heartbeat ‘gainst your toned and supple skin.

And your fingers running gently through the softness of my hair

Spur the driving force of nature as she rises to prepare...

 

The crescendo of the heavens, in a blinding cannonade

Like a thousand philharmonics, as a symphony is played.

There is lightning for the cymbals, there is thunder for the drums

And the raindrops are percussion, and the wind, euphoniums.

 

Soon our lips are touching softly, and our spirits are as one

And I hold you to me gently, like it’s only just begun.

There is thunder in the valleys there is lightning on the peaks

As we tremble with sensations... such that neither of us speaks.

 

Now the pelting rain is driving and the storm is full-on pitch

Is the window frame vibrating? Or the glass? I can’t tell which!

She is towering in her majesty, impassioned in her flight

As her overtures pay homage to the glory of this night.

 

We are moving to her rhythm, to the beating of her heart

She is taking us to paradise with all she can impart.

We are sailing on her echoes, in a chariot of fire

Through a cauldron of emotion in a furnace of desire.

 

We are lost in this kaleidoscope of jewel-tinted whorls

There is fire in the heavens as a mighty torrent swirls;

Sweet oblivion is total, not a trace of mortal time,

Just a love-light in our passion, so ethereal... sublime.

 

In the morning comes the silence, with the ruddy glow of dawn,

For her parting has bequeathed to us the beauty of this morn.

And your eyes possess her lustre, for they sparkle clear and bright

Like the opalescent colours... of the tempest of the night.

 

© 2001 Rod Walford