Therapy Bits

A sky alive with restless fire,
its silver veins strike through the dark,
each bolt a fleeting, jagged lyre,
each note a searing, whispered spark.

The stars, unshaken, burn between
the thunder’s call, the lightning’s blade,
small sentinels, serene, unseen
beneath the storm the heavens made.

And far below, the bridge is strung—
a harp of steel across the deep,
its cables taut, its arches flung
as though to bind the world in sleep.

Yet in this storm it seems to sing,
a trembling chord of night and flame,
suspended in the air’s vast wing,
where stars and lightning write their name.

Simply 6 Minutes – Welcome to the Challenge: 08/19/2025 – Stine Writing