Here is a short and beautiful poem by Emily Dickinson. It strikes quick then lingers in the air like the smell of a lightning storm. The title inspired one of my recent flash pieces.
The Soul's Storm
It struck me every day The lightning was as new As if the cloud that instant slit And let the fire through.
It burned me in the night, It blistered in my dream; It sickened fresh upon my sight With every morning's beam.
I thought that storm was brief, — The maddest, quickest by; But Nature lost the date of this, And left it in the sky.
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