Storms

A rising spire of power, a column held upright by the wind,

many factors going in, but only a few coming out.

A trickle is first, the basic thing,

drops of water falling from the sky.

Big or small, evaporated or not,

it will always be the trickle we know it to be.

A shake, a rumble, through the distant sky,

coming from a flash so bright, it may hurt your eyes.

Bright or dim, loud or not,

it will always be the flash and rumble we know it to be.

A whistle, peeling the shingles off the roof,

to blow past your house, that whistle from the storm.

Strong or weak, Gusty or not,

it will always be the whistle we know it to be.

That rising spire of power, holds much potential inside,

only a few outcomes occur, originated from that one tower of clouds.