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graff1980Poems
Late afternoon, daylight is broken by clouds coming through. Top split, branches bent, dead grey tree stays in one place. Dark blue sky hues vent wind and water while lightning and thunder vibrates the ground with a growl like rumble. Droplets fall fierce as dragons who lost their wings mid-flight pounding the ceiling; No fire breath in sight. The concrete, light grey to white becomes wet brown. I sit down, door open, to hear the storm, watching puddles form like my grandpa used to do. A rogue river of water runs by and around my window making my guard shack feel like Huck Finn’s flat bottom, houseboat floating on the mighty Mississippi. Now nature’s muse is loose. My eyes burn heavy. I long to lose the burden of consciousness and sleep through this not out of boredom but from the sweet bliss of this early evening storming.
0
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 10:31 AM UTC
Storming
Late afternoon, daylight is broken by clouds coming through. Top split, branches bent, dead grey tree stays in one place. Dark blue sky hues vent wind and water while lightning and thunder vibrates the ground with a growl like rumble. Droplets fall fierce as dragons who lost their wings mid-flight pounding the ceiling; No fire breath in sight. The concrete, light grey to white becomes wet brown. I sit down, door open, to hear the storm, watching puddles form like my grandpa used to do. A rogue river of water runs by and around my window making my guard shack feel like Huck Finn’s flat bottom, houseboat floating on the mighty Mississippi. Now nature’s muse is loose. My eyes burn heavy. I long to lose the burden of consciousness and sleep through this not out of boredom but from the sweet bliss of this early evening storming.
graff1980
Written by
graff1980
43/M
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 10:31 AM UTC
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