Prose Practice 1

A Poem by ACrownofSwords

This is really, really bad. Sorry. ( I wouldn't consider this a poem, I just couldn't find a slot for pure prose practice.)

I drove into the lightning today.

I drove into the ionization and rode out on the thunder, rain soaking my skin, my hair wild, my breath electric.

I think it’s times like this, when our hair is wild and our skin soaked and our breath humming electricity that we are the truest form of ourselves. I think we become the energy that burns through our veins - born of two forces of attraction growing until they reach their breakdown potential - and burn a path through a tempest of discharge. We cannot be created or destroyed. When we have finished our energy goes back into the air and the earth and the sea and all that’s left is the image seared into watching eyes.