It's Still Life

Thunder’s Middle Voice

Those black crow clouds
Just keep rolling,
Building, boiling,
Then pouring scorn.

Our summer storms
Are whiskey warm,
Like peppercorns’
Heat wakening.

We wait, listen,
For the lightning,
Thunder’s frightening
Torn middle voice.

AI Digital Artwork is created using Midjourney. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023 Shared on Twitter #amwriting @midjourney