Storm

4 Comments

Poem Commentary

This poem was made about three years ago.

Storm

as the storm clouds descend 
no one is safe 
amidst the fog that surrounds 
everyone is lost 
and as lightnings deadly strikes 
more and more take their final breath 
thunder rumbles 
making a monstrous voice that can be heard by all 
with the rain that falls 
mankind is drenched in sorrow 
as the eye of the storm passes 
mankind can see hope 
they are glad to see an end of the suffering 
their hope and happiness is lost 
as the darkness ascends once more 
as the storm continues 
to desecrate mankind's way of life 
they find hope that was once lost 
this storm will end not today 
not tomorrow 
but one day one day 
there will be light once more 
the storm heavy and thick like tar 
would beat makind for thee days 
at the end of three days 
the fog disipated 
but mankind was still lost 
the pouring stopped 
but mankind was left with puddles of sorrow 
only to dry in time
the frightening lightning that took so many 
stopped
was it a victory for mankind 
no not victory 
this was only the first time of many 
that storms would pass 
but they would pass 
and in time so too will the sorrow that pours 
and the fog that surrounds 
but the ones who took their final breath 
would never be forgotten

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fmrdancer commented on Storm

10-04-2009

Beautiful, descriptive use of words. You can almost feel the rain and the lightening ,and hear the thunder. Very well written.

WordSlinger commented on Storm

09-22-2009

I believe it's still storming, this is vivid, and intense.

ANNAMAE commented on Storm

09-22-2009

Hero of Writing, I enjoyed reading about your storm. It was more down to details with rain, lightning and all the excitment a storm brings. I lived in Modesto once. Beautiful dry lightning bolts in the distance. Good poem....Annamae

Mandi commented on Storm

09-22-2009

I like your writing. You have good analogies. good dense of descriptions. keep writing I will look for more in the future

Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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