Sometimes

I am a striking rod of Violet-white–

shooting fast

through bombs of thunder and  swollen rainclouds

on unsuspecting summer eves.

I am fleeting, but sharp.

an intense shock of brilliance and pain

that others fear

and admire.

But when the night implodes

in a mushroom cloud of fury and fire,

I too

become plain

and pale–

A Nothingspecial

floating, unnoticed,

through the day

like ash.