varying degrees of light

I am that cloud that they will finally pierce with a spear, having had watched the buildup for so long now and waiting for a break; a calm and placid steep or an eruption, a flash of light, and how would one be more appropriate? Why might a quiet weeping be more expected, the next assumed step, than the violence and calamity that may just as well follow? I am that cloud, building and waiting. I am here looming silently.