Dark the clouds cover the sky.
They swirl and twitch ever darker.
A mocking and increasingly intense wind plays with them making them turn at will.
Cold wind, which soon announces storm.
The heavenly games, the jokes of Aeolus that the mortals mock, remain to behold.
Here, the sky appears more and more black and oppressive.
It seems to reflect my soul.
The first thunder is heard far away.
He grumbles and agitates like mine.
The sky lights up with the white lightning, a mighty roar, shakes its bowels.
While the lightnings dance in the air, abundant rain falls on the ground.
Cold, intense, and wadding, like a dark shroud.
Everything is washed.
Only my soul of oppression does not succeed in nectar.
© 2019 Cornelius Nolitta