The storm clouds marched toward us
bursting at their cotton-candy seams
armed with their weapons
made of water droplets and electricity.
They made their way over my hometown —
the roads that my bicycle knew all too well–
and chose my childhood home
to wage their war.
They did not rent out our sky,
provide a notice,
or even ask permission–
they just were.
Lightning struck the roof I dreamt of climbing atop,
and our town seized from the sheer noise —
the final blow
the fatal shot —
setting fire ablaze as the clouds reached the end of their battle.
And while I’m sure that science can explain the chemistry of it all
Rain cascaded down walls that held a lifetime of secrets
as the city’s water, shot from a powerful hose,
gracefully destroyed what remained–
shoving antique furniture and a personal library
The same series of hydrogen and oxygen that I drink to stay alive
washed away fingerprints
and crayon masterpieces
The same substance that my savior converted into wine
could not save us in that moment
or restore my home
The same series of ions that is essential to human life
stole mine –
proving that destruction can come
from even the most beautiful things.