Not quite Midnight,

it never seems to come

as the days merge, fuse together

and seamlessly reside

in the thunderstorm that overpowers

the field in which I am the

Lightning Rod, scorched,

burned and aflame,

on fire.

The shadows caused by rippling

lightning and the sparks of energy

draining in the seconds and minutes

before midnight, never get eaten away,

they are drowned instead like the myriad

of small organisms clinging

to the only tree in the field,

wind tossed, asleep, dead…

I am the lightning rod, burned

to embers in my field.

Ian D. Hall 2016