A grey sky
A lonely day
A different way to say
Much in the same way
When rain comes and goes
Through the storm it shows
This is the direction to go
A path that winds below.
Paths onward from sun setting
Following another days bloodletting
A tired moon casts her netting
Sleep is a dream I’m getting.
Posted in General
Tagged below, bloodletting, dream, Moon, path, poem, poetry, rain, sleep, storm, sunset
The winds that lead me,
Where they did push me along,
Thankful for the storm.
Aimlessly we are marching towards the sea.
Forcing luck, we say we’re bound to blue skies.
We’re told there’s no ocean to hear our plea,
Vehemently we strain our wings to fly.
Skies above: the opposite of shelter.
What’s left blue, now grey; a common constant.
“At least no rain!” says snow in mock laughter.
We gather against the raging onset.
A killing edge formed between tide and shore.
We are many swallowed and few returned.
They are waiting for us, whom we adore,
There are mistakes some fear we can’t unlearn.
In spite of our current plight, we press on,
Surviving each day till the next new dawn.
Posted in Nature, Sonnets
Tagged fly, luck, ocean, penguin, plight, poem, poetry, rain, shore, sky, snow, sonnet, storm, tide, wave
I long for the days to grow shorter.
The heat to fade and the cold to grow harsher.
Spring only leads to summer, and fall not close enough,
Throughout the year, too much tangled up stuff.
Give me the storms and rain and snow,
As long as their wind remains cold.
Until the sun grows cold and gives us less light,
I’ll pretend I’m sleeping, I’ll pretend it’s night.
Posted in Personal
Tagged cold, days, fade, Fall, heat, poem, poetry, rain, snow, Spring, storm, summer, wind, winter
Against the wind, the oncoming storm.
In place waiting
for the rains to pass.
She knows what lies beyond,
The eye of the storm.
She is not fooled by a false calm.
Ravager of worlds
Storm. Beast. Unstoppable force.
A herald of end.
When cities crumble after skies fall down,
A curious sun shines upon ruins.
I stand on oceans edge, dead ground.
One won’t see death here for bright day akin
To a cemetery, dry bones, and sin.
Cities crumble and leave no clouds behind,
No churches, or temples we’ve to hide in.
Nothing I see above that’s silver lined.
One doesn’t see God’s hand, raising up storms,
And torching the land. We mustn’t cry out:
“The gods! The gods!”. We’re to blame. On this shore,
I meet the sand and the waves, still with doubt,
God in His heaven, all’s right with the world.
I look on, as this too becomes unfurled.
Posted in Life (or something like it)
Tagged church, city, crumble, death, God, heaven, ocean, poetry, shore, sin, storm, sun, temple, torch, unfurl, world