A storm was brewing
a gathering of black clouds
blocking out the sun
waiting for the thunder to clap
and the rain to fall.
“Black as night,”
my mother said
nervously,
“the clouds have eaten the sun.”
She didn’t like storms.

I found it exciting
unpredictable
disconcerting,
the transformation
of day into night.
And the blackness completed it.
Nights were usually grey
with cloud,
I liked it when the cloud cleared
leaving brightness, not blackness
as if the moon had eaten the dark.

It seems the moon is the more powerful.
The clouds might eat the sun,
but the moon ate the dark.

Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud ‘War Poetry for Today’ competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Apogee, Firewords, Capsule Stories, Light Journal and So It Goes.

You can find more of Lynn’s writing at Poetry – Lynn White and Facebook