Beauty at My Window

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Beauty at My Window

One afternoon, when all lay quiet but the pitter-patter of rain drops, a storm fell across all of the east. A thick fog covered all the yards of Brockton Lane. Not a single living thing visible within feet. The air dampened the plaited glass of my window. Within minutes it began to pound atop the roof, and rushing from the gutters. It carried on for what seemed almost 15 minutes before it slowed to a stop. Calm rhythmic water droplets stung the overcast sullen sky before blooming into a crystal blue as the clouds rolled by. A burst of light flowed through the heavenly sky, rays upon rays it washed out any scent of the storm. The light bounced off the glass reflecting through what seemed to be a halo of scarlet gold. Branches from the oak trees outside eclipsed the glass casting off a whole world of shadows. The colors overwhelmingly bled through the glass within moments wedding between the sheets upon my bed. Wringing through the dry air of my room. In short, it was beautiful.-AMIB

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Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.

Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC) Greek philosopher.

MyMadamePoetess’s Poems (9)

Title Comments
Title Comments
The Candle is Burning 0
I have a Voice 0
Beauty at My Window 0
Love 0
Time 0
The Courtesan 1
Virtual Eloquence 0
Love's Thorns 1
Lust... 2