Dominance of the Storm

I wrote this one a few years back and only recently refined it.

Dominance of the Storm

His race to refuge,

Through a desolate path,

Filled with rain and lightning.

Both born of the sky's unforgiving wrath.

Trying to fulfill his futile quest,

One trophy that he has blundered-

life-now belonging to the fury of thunder.

Running toward safety's ledge,

Wind retaliates; the storm salivates,

At the appealing thought,

Of having another's fate.

All power resides in this cyclone of life.

Shall it decide to unravel?

Or continue its strife?

There is an indifference...

But then the thunder must come to a decision.

All rage seems to stop as the man runs in the shape of a mope.

He then peers up praying for even a raindrop of hope.

The hiatus concludes and the madness proceeds,

With perpetual roars.

The man is now destined to merge with the high up hell,

And as the strong gusts catapult him to kingdom come,

The poor man's life is forever quelled.