The Autonomous Lightning

It makes sense to simmer,

burn bright at 2 a.m.

then fizzle out

as we all do.

The drive home

on poorly lit

highways is made more

comfortable

by the comfort of a millisecond

of lightning.

It shines bright on me,

soundless, requesting no

quid pro quo.

Thousands of years ago

Zeus would throw his bolts

on the traveling victim of his choice,

the lightning enslaved by his

willful hand.

But nobody believes in Gods,

Jesus, or an afterlife anymore.

Our molecules, old as time,

are scattered in an unintelligble rhyme.

And so the lightning was set free

by electrons and blasphemy.

The autonomous lightning,

shields me from all this darkness.

And my never-ending soul,

was wagering on whether I'd make

it home before the rain.

I was betting on solemnity and fear,

a simple girl so set on following

that yellow line,

like a lightning bolt not drawn right.

So I curved and swerved to make up

for the mistake

Or maybe I should have been asleep instead.

Yes,

and the moon and the stars

move by their own laws,

laws that make sense to the lonely

moon when she is hiding,

when the selfish sun

refuses to ante up his light.

The clouds will say:

"I can't stop the rain,

It flows and flows."

I see,

the sky has been

set free.

I see the autonomous lightning.