Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sailing in the same boat
Fears of drowning
Speaks none
Still storms
Never warn
JP Goss Sep 29
A furious screaming came off the lakes
And drowned out a million curses
Hiding from the cold, as hands in their pockets:
Isolated and trembling.
Despite a proprioception lost,
One body, blue at the tips, curls closer
To the dikes of thickening blood,
That, neatly, remain outward, exposed.
Do we not huddle in coaches and spaces
When our passions’ armor cracks?
Do we not crave touch for lack of warmth
When the skies above are clear?
Do we not risk hypothermia
When we expose ourselves to another?
We are the organs of great cities,
As we are great cities of cells
Seeking outlet on natural course all rigid
Those unconscious fraternities
Ebb and grow as we, like lakes, turn to floes
By cruel chemical realities held to bodies are—
As hands of distant lovers are—
Seeking outlet, seeking tributary.
Stagnant, though, cities stand
As the thin-skinned tissues flow
Swelling at inlets, at terminus expand
To compensate, give room—
This winter of hearts only lengthens
And so bodies begin to quake
As our bedrock breaks through
Its torments cutting outward from the skin.
fray narte Sep 4
who's to say she was a girl trapped in her storms —
or a storm trapped in a girl?

nonetheless,
she had been waiting
for the calm to settle after the storm
only to see
it left nothing unscathed.
fray narte Sep 4
there is
the calm
before
and after
and
in-between that
is my mind,
caught
in a
n e v e r - e n d i n g
storm.
AM Sep 1
the scariest part of a storm isn’t the rain
the wind
or the lightning

it’s the thunder

the wind and the rain are normal. they’re expected and known.

the lightning is scary but is over as soon as it starts

thunder is the reminder. the loudest part. the deep rumble of anger. the outburst of passion. it strikes fear into the innocent. and unease into the not.

thunder can’t physically hurt us. but it doesn’t stop the fear from thinking it can.

because maybe he will
annh Aug 23
Tendrils of drowsy pleasure entice and hypnotise,
As daybreak storms; a rapturous collision,
Of distorted cadences and scintillating harmonies,
Between discarded blue-sky sheets.

‘I love to feel the temperature drop and the wind increase just before a thunderstorm. Then I climb in bed with the thunder.’
- Amanda Mosher, Better To Be Able To Love Than To Be Loveable
Seanathon Aug 18
When you can hear the rain running through the trees
Scampering out from the great unknown
With a booming, thunderus, parental wave
The cosmos sounds
And the thunder calls it's children home
That sound of a storm running towards you. Amazing.
Alexis Aug 16
the sky is crying so hard
these tears feel like bullets
and sound just the same .

i have to ask
who is she trying to **** ?

if its humanity
i admit,
i do not blame her .
tears or bullets?
I dont see a difference.
Caroline Aug 12
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

- Emily Dickinson


Waiting for the angry sky to spread across the mountains,
Shifting its vehemence from the high plains
To the undulation of dark pines
And valleys
That meet at the wild boundary lines
Of the Dakotas.  

The distant sound of thunder shakes the ground
And does not rumble like a gentle summer storm,
But implodes within the atoms of the air
Like somewhere in the night
Exists the frontlines of a war.

It draws ever near.

And it is enough to scare this little bird away;
Yet, she sings into the dying of the day,
And bravely turns to face the
Driving wind,
Wings extended out and in
To the torrent of the rain.

She is accustomed to the pain
Of singing all alone
Abandoned in the darkness of a soul
That has almost given up.

But as each storm approaches, I am beginning to trust
That she is always there.

Her bright wings flutter in the deepest hollows of despair.
Her colors light the air between the clashing of the clouds
And when the lightening flares
I can see her
Suspended there
Still.

I reach out to grab her.
Surely, she cannot survive a storm of this magnitude,
Not this time.

But you take my hand in yours and tell me,
“She will be fine,”
And even though the sky is falling
I believe you.
Is there any greater gift than the restoration of hope?
Alison Aug 6
We met in a rainstorm
Our eyes full of rain
And hope.
We scrunched together
Our pace almost matching.
We laughed at the puddles
The thunder
And the lightening.
Their power could not compare
To the storm that was brewing between us.
The rain was cold
But the fire inside our souls
Burned so bright
It kept us warm
And lit the way.
I could have gotten lost
In  your gaze
Your smile
Your laugh.
But instead we walked on.
Trudging through puddles
Our eyes never meeting
Our shoulders barely brushing
But our souls already intertwined.
Next page