there's this boy, dark hair, light-brown skin, his eyes warm like a campfire, with my melting marshmallow heart, my fever for him grows, i love him, squished between the graham crackers of guilt, because i love her as well.
Pitch black. Black as night. Blacker than black. All is silent. Eerily silent. Deathly silent. Waiting. Fearing. Expecting... the worse.
The wind whistling, winding itself through the trees, seductively, assertively, aggressively. Tension building. Coming closer. Gathering pace. Leaves quiver. Trees shake. A flash of lightening. A piercing crack. Dead above. Eyes wide. Heart stopped. Frozen.
Then just as abruptly as it arrived, its gone. Leaving the rain behind. Pitter, patter, plop on the tent canvas. Soothing. Calming. Zzzzzz.
Dawn comes. Birds sing. Fresh morning dew. All's well in the world once more.
Til the next time....
I wrote this while wild-ish camping and just loved the energy of the storm on my first night. This is my first ever attempt at a poem - as an adult!
Restless Ulysses calling seaward Wave-crest and trough on water Bark seal slap rush Carve one sweep, two sweep Push and the wayfarer Boot, back, and shoulder A life neatly bundled going on On and on and on; wander Because no god is present Without vastness, surrender Fire lick crackle burn driftwood blue On the sand in the gravel And restless sailor calling seaward Take the horizon to break Spine and sinew ironmonger The old and elderly will fondly remember These days when we were strong And the stars unobscured by smoke