Nature And Poetry

2

           Skies of black, crying hard. Tears punching  the ground, full of power.

           I am watching by as water sprinkled at me. Coldness, pain, I could feel it all. It won't drain, My skin won't drain.

           As each and every second goes by, the cloudburst kept on weeping, gaining pressure; power; anxiety and persecution. Blaming it all on earth.

           He had no company. She, the stars were afraid to be his chaperone. Horrified to be excruciated and hated by him.

            This was the first time, that he had been flooding tears; tearing trees limb to limb; surging seas over buildings and smashing towering mountains of victory with it's blinded lightning.

           Onwards time, an umbrella of irretrievable did flee it's way halfway the road. Lacking beautifulness but abounding dauntless.

           The wind helped this gold of purity stood up by it's own base without handles or support. It continued battling the rain overhead until the abused wind pushed the device upward, towards the endless space of sky matter.

           I wondered, where could they possibly bring the umbrella of victory symbol? Will he, the dulled skies, be contented upon snipping this device of perfection? Maybe yes. Because the firmament seems to be transforming from the hundredths to the zeroes of level.

           It's finally figuring it's own way to calmness. To tranquility, finding it home like no other. The skies of darkness turning deepblue in midday. Sniffing it's liquid from where it came from by rising sun.

           For I have discovered that some can't be in serenity if no pure heart stood upon solacing him.