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dailythoughts Nov 16
the thing about storms
is that they are missed when gone
at peace in chaos
there are girls made of storms,
and girls born of fire;
but the ones I love best are roses.
they’re beautiful, with thorns,
and roots that reach deeper than the winter frost.
Karly Codr Oct 12
I love thunderstorms
The lightning flashing
The thunder roaring
It's a rhythm that lulls me to sleep
Rather than the sobbing into my pillow.
There’s some lightning in your heartbeat,
Can’t you see
There’s a lot of storms around you?
But I brought us an umbrella,
Stand with me.
I know it’s not home,
But you won’t be cold alone.
Horrid actions
Lives lived for lives
Hapless people living
Caved in throats
With words unspoken.
Hurting era of
Lost desire;
Hateful speakers,
Smoldering fires;
Storms that threaten,
Not just the weather;
People that won't work together.
Hate and anger
Running free-
and twisting me.
In this world
That speaks of doom,
Living, trapped, inside our rooms;
Every day, the news gone bad-
Needling us,
To make us mad;
A thousand things,
The disaster
In which we are participating.
I cant unsee
Or deny
These things, events
That make me cry-
But I wont give in,
And thusly lie;
That its all ok,
Everything is fine.
Khoi Sep 16
Cry me a river
O'er, rapids coming forth
setting my soul FREE.
In our natural life
there is always a calm
after the storm
a deafening silence
defining the way forward
Sya Aug 12
The warmth wind that rushes past my skin
The faint smell of rain that clouds the air
Bringing back tumbling rolls of emotion that had once been
The wind chimes that clank each other in the distance somewhere

The sky above carefully trickles water
Almost as if the sea of blue was crying
Blue, maybe it was sad and couldn’t be stronger
Or strong enough to keep on trying

Trying to withhold all of the awful memories
That been stored in its clouds, slowing turning into a summer storm
when the summer heat had clawed open the treachery
The trickle of the rain had become a pouring storm

Soaking every bit of happiness with the sadness in its heart
Everyday people would point at the world above them and admire
The beauty it was, but they could never tell that it was being torn apart
Yes it was beautiful but it was a beautiful disaster, engulfed in the fire

That had been lit by the “treasure” it held inside
The treasure that was poisoned and gold
There had once been jewels but they had all died
The moment somebody had told

There secret to the world, the secret that would only let them be free
Once the water had make contact with my glistening skin
It was soon dulled and all the familiar senses filled me
The water had grabbed a hold of my mind and pulled it a little too thin

Leaving only the harmful metal
Soon turning into rust
The brown colors matching the dirt and pebbles
The metal rotting away only reminding me of the past

The treacherous moments that had caused the storm in the first place
The person in these horrible memories had been drowned in the roaring waters
Like an assassin killing all the joy in my life without a single trace
It had been a ******, a slaughter

The clouds could only continue to let out strangled noises
The lighting flashing like cries for help
Only after their whimpers can they share their voices
The ground below them turning into a sea
A dark scary ocean that shares the same color as the sky
Sadness has overcome both of them leaving nothing to be
Except for those who had learned to fly

They soar across the sky
Dodging the poisonous water hearing the calls
The only question on their mind being why

Why had nobody heard their desperate callings
Why was the downpour happening

The only thing they hoped for was a rainbow in the morning
The calm after the damaging
Aidan M Jul 25
Storms in us are barreling, taking aim at our threats.

Land will impact the wind. Hurricanes, powerful wind, moving west.

The center of wind, rain, and surf strikes close. Halt the move. Storm Center had wind.

Located on moving mouths, a storm watches for strength until it sees a chance. It reaches for heavy areas. Could it flood?

Meanwhile, expect a long line. Storm forces could reach night or day.

The earliest storm follows from the son.
This is a blackout poem I made from the weather section of a newspaper. It symbolizes the nature of arguments and fights as storms. You can never predict when they’ll happen or why.
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