An excellent storm, good sir,quite superbly done indeed.
Your dark and thunderous fury
tore open the night as we huddled,
trembling in our nests,
hiding from your glinting teeth.
But come gray dawn you are still.
The very face of the air is calmed,
all tension now beaded into morning dew.
The grass is softer for your touch,
and your tears have watered the earth,
washing away the scars of battle,
healing our souls, our hearts,
leaving us rejuvenated
and ready for new growth.
I think, in secret,
that perhaps your roaring
encompasses more than just rage
It is an expression of everything:
it is one of torrential love, of grief,
of exultation, of pure passion, of power.
And indeed, we admire your confidence,
for we tiny beings are puny in our hurts.
Our messy feelings cause no such tempest,
so instead they shame us into silence.
By contrast you tear at your hair and shout
and your screams shake the earth,
leaving us in awe,
and perhaps a little bit in love.
YOU ARE READING
Counting Down the Days
PoetryIt is the summer before I leave for college, and I am staring into the empty abyss before me, wondering what to do with my life. In this collection, I am challenging myself to write something every day (now adjusted to every 2-3 days). I may write p...