Pounding, pouring,
Water pummeling the floor.
Thunder roaring and lightning crashing,
All in the heat of fury.
Messing, muddling,
Mixing things up.
Mashing, crashing,
A foreshadowing of what is to come.
Whispering, rushing,
The trees blowing secrets in the wind.
Perhaps hail will start soon,
A deluge of silver stones,
All working to damage the world.
Then perhaps a tornado,
A spinning funnel of destruction
Looking to destroy everything in it's path.
A source of Mother Nature's abundant greatness,
But harshness and anger.
Gray clouds,
Filling the sky,
Troubling the souls,
Deepening the mood,
Inspiring the beginning of the thought.
The awareness,
The understanding,
All trying to quell the fear.
A pouring, a pounding,
A roaring, a crashing.
It's their time.
Their time to shine,
To emerge from the shells they've isolated themselves in.
While others run,
Hiding under umbrellas,
They go out the double doors,
Perhaps holding hands with a partner,
And they walk.
They walk under the rain,
Under the thunder,
Under the lightning,
Under the hail,
Even under the tornado.
Because what others consider a storm,
They consider home.
YOU ARE READING
Submerged Stories
PoetryLong story short, this is a book of stories about my life that I don't tell anyone else, expressed through the beautiful art of poetry. Poetry is my way of finding myself, and hopefully you as readers will be able to find yourself as well. TRIGGER W...
