I never thought the day would come
when thunder struck me down.
The raven cackled as he circled above
unaffected, brutally blissful. 
He was waiting for the opportune moment to pluck out my eyes,
and shred my skin beneath his beak.
He wasn’t waiting for me to succumb to the state of a corpse; 
He wanted to eat me alive.
My eyes were trained to the skies
as his oily black feathers rustled with the wind.
A storm was coming- 
Dark, static and deep.
The thunder was animate and strong.
My brittle spine felt the monster in the cloud 
as it cracked against the grassy field. 
Looking up, I could see the darkness
and the red eyes that burned in the storm.
My epiphany was cruel, 
the realization of my brutality stung like a whip.
I understood then, as the raven flew, that I was paying 
and would continue to pay for my absence of wings.
To reach the sky, I would require flight.
Without it, I would burn.
I would crack and break, just like lightening in the storm.
I felt my blood freeze in my veins, even as the wind turned hot.
The icy caverns of hell were not tangible, 
but soon existed inside my brain and wormed its way to my eyes,
so what I perceived as the world turned to a bristling storm-
Animate, frightening, incorrigible- salvation-less.

The thunder struck me down.


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