... Feel its teeth now, smell its foetid breath ....
Image (c) 2008, Karla Dorman
... get an eyeful as it hovers
over me, growling low in its
throat. Want to escape, but
legs won't work: paralyzed
by fear. Feel its teeth now,
smell its foetid breath (hint
of ozone). One chomp, a
swallow later, all is dark as
I enter the belly of the beast:
not the way I wanted to die.
A couple of time after a lightning storm (Oslo, Norway has 20.000 lightning one night! ! !) and the air smelled strongly of sulphur.
Maybe the Devil was cooking some wicked souls.
What a horrible sky that is. So scarey too. Bet you were really worried if you would actually live through that day. Black rolling storms always scare me that a tornado is coming soon. Hate storms actually.
Those clouds would look pretty good, right now, Karla. Your words of fear are well expressed in this poem - the belly of the beast...WOW! Great! But I'm ready for anything, 'cept twisters, that will lower the temperature for a while, and we need more of the blessed rain :o)
Blessings and Love - Micke
The fortunate inherit riches, prestige, positive notoriety. Those not so lucky bear legacies filled with poverty, infamy or, worse yet, the unhinged insanity and murderous urges of their ancestors.
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In Christs Love
Michelle~
Maybe the Devil was cooking some wicked souls.
Georg
Newfie Hugs are on the way, Rose
Reminds me of my "Whiteout" poem.
Very well done.
--RaeLynn
Sandie May :o)
Blessings and Love - Micke
(((HUGS))) and much love, your twin, Karen Lynn. :) *shudders*