I love thunderstorms

I love thunderstorms.
They appear and with lightning strike the Earth with such a grace that blends perfectly with a beautiful trance.
Like tears, the rain falls. Is the Earth sad, or just the people on it? And does the lightning erratically strike in a dance; rhythmic with the spiral of chaos?
The storm lessens a smidgen, although I'm sure it's only catching its breath for another wet, thunderous wave. I start to think about the lives of humans. Numerous, like the drops of rain that amazingly form in the clouds like a fetus in the womb, and afterwards race to the ground, then splatter the Earth, leaving a noticeable residual that's similar to the abrupt conclusion to our lives.
A tear sheds from my left eye, but I leave it. I dare not wipe it away, for it should be remembered.
Rolls of clouds shape and reshape in the distance, like the transfer of energy that they blindly are.
I fear God only through the hands of the Earth. It has no face, and therefor no one to compromise with.
No matter, though. I still love thunderstorms.