Bookends

I dreamt about a thunderstorm;

                                                           I woke up to a reckoning.

A storm in summer is a relief.

That’s the thing about thunder, it rolls,

                             like a child down a hill, tumbling,

                                                                                        rebellious.

It can also roll incessantly, nefariously, scarily.

No sign of ending.                                                       

                                                                                               No bookend.   

And because it’s not a book,

                                  and you’re just a reader anyway,

you can’t seem to put it down, dog-ear it for a rainy day.       

I dreamt of a game that was rigged

                                 with human pieces and

                                                              bloodstained stakes.  

And I found some comfort in the fact we play.

I woke up and my bed was your hot hands

                                          so I stepped out into the rain,

                                           with the hope that it could set me free. 

Go ahead, give me lightning,

                                                               give me your worst.

Give me your judgement,

                                             let me sleep.

A storm in summer is a baptism.

I dreamt about a thunderstorm;

                                                           I woke up to a reckoning.

_{Jane, 19, England.}