The Perfect Storm

0 Comments

Tags:
  • Nature

    The Perfect Storm

    A slight breeze illuminates dreams
    An enlightened sense of ones self being
    Perfect weather on a sunny day
    All grief sustained fades away
    As trees sway under beautiful skies
    Mother Nature idles by
    As she plays her sweet soft tune
    Dazed we seem by a favoring bloom
    A vision for in which we see
    Paradise for in which we seek
    Blinded in by good of heart
    Thwarted by a brewing dark
    An instant change in bright clear skies
    Subtle seems now another life
    Chaos turned to rumbles and sparks
    The whistle of wind sears the heart
    Mastery displayed as if an art
    Here is where it all starts

    Anxiety creates a wishful end
    As the storm settles in
    The clash and bangs consolidate chance
    Hindering on a disastrous fringe
    Creeping as if filled with rage
    This world outside set at bay
    Condemned to hours rushed away
    Bearing down as if we’re prey
    A booming roar sets display
    To streaking lights distance fades
    Buildings creek as if to weep
    Slammed again by debris
    Trees seem to bow to the ground
    As if to honor a memorial found
    Waves clash like charging bulls
    A jagged scene set is bestowed
    Here we are set to wait
    Nestled till a safer day

    Inside it seems a settle tomb
    While awaiting in the gloom
    For the light of day hidden away
    To be seen seems ample disarray
    How to feature such a blow
    The world outside seems to hold
    For it is our protector’s rock
    Life has always seemed to fought
    The fight against a certain doom
    To a start of life fresh anew
    For the storm begins to fade
    Bearing a catastrophic stage
    Displaying a cycle in which is life
    Encountering self set aside
    Grasping together for another chance
    United is now how we stand

    Poem Comments

    (0)

    Please login or register

    You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
    leave comments/feedback and rate this poem.

    Login or Register

    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.

    bcxc’s Poems (13)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    A Loves Profound 0
    Translations Sought 1
    Insight 0
    LIfe's Chapters 0
    The Perfect Storm 0
    A True Friend 1
    Duality 1
    The Prayer 3
    America the Great 1
    The Castle 2
    Reverence 1
    A Path to Fulfillment 2
    The years of Wandering Share 4