The Storm
The sky looked mean and the wind blew mad
with no control we never had
a chance.
Blinded by the rain and on our own
we found holding on to
nothing is better
than letting go.
Into the dark and out
of the light, tossed
into this Storm
we call
life.
In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry, it's the exact opposite.
Franz Kafka (1883-1924) Czech writer.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Past and Present | 0 | 05/28/2009 |
| Past and Present | 0 | 05/28/2009 |
| Past and Present | 0 | 05/28/2009 |
| Past and Present | 0 | 05/28/2009 |
| The Storm | 0 | 05/27/2009 |
| Iron Horse | 0 | 05/27/2009 |
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.