Electricity in the clouds

The bright shiny yellow strikes danced a crossed the sky

Like a dance of some kind

The gray canvas they dance on sway and morph with the wind

The streaks look like roots trying to touch the earth but only some make it

When they do touch the ground they leave a burn, a scar

A flash and then a tendril of white and yellow

Followed by a boom

The clouds are just like that of a room with the lights off

Children hide under their beds

Teenagers watch in fascination

Parents check on their electricity

Soon in the morning the dance ends

Only to be replaced by a collaboration of an artist's pallet

and a never ending rainbow