The Lightning Strike

There is a moment, when a spark thunders down, when all I need is a glass and no sound.
The first moment like it, which no one could predict, was, for me, when everything clicked.
Once it was done, I could not quit; poetry was like a drug that I hit.
Here is where I could stretch out my wit.

That was the moment, but this is the now, and to be stopped is something that I can't allow.
The lightning hits, charging my veins, making me chart a whole new campaign;
the campaign doesn't stop, none can stop lightning, words driving down, words become lightning.
Here in the now, these words are brightening.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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