Weather not unlike the cold, wet world of Bella Swan’s Washington.
Gloomy veils of gunmetal, greying out the honeysuckle, blanket sky.
Colours of misery, monochromes of despair.
Making you want to curl up in a corner; snug,
Snug as a bug, with a jug of coffee.
Trapped inside, indoor, away, from the bitter retorts,
And loud reports of the elements at war.
Brilliant flashes of ice, blue, sudden displays,
Dances split seconds, imprints forever,
It looks so dull outside; colourless and complaining,
Painting thoughts of pain and words left unspoken.
Rising from the dim exterior, soaked drops of diamonds,
Large, roaring, flapping wings of rubies crawling,
from the underbrush.
Glint, sapphire eyes staring deep,
Into the hearts of elves, the ideas of enchanters,
The sweat on the brow of the hero and the heat of battle.
When the rain comes down, with thunder, with lightning,
In every shimmering droplet, my imagination sees a story.