@Abi, of course! Your writing and poems always have perfect descriptions and pack so many emotions. You truly do have a talent!

This is yesterday's NaPoWriMo poem, and I just felt like posting it. the promt was to use these words: rain, dust, until, falter, taunting.

A Crack of Thunder (a Fictional Story)

I sit, salty breeze stinging my skin, watching the sun sing beneath the horizon,

my toes buried deep in the sand. An indescribable pool of reds and yellows and pinks and blends of when they collide to form a new color

sits in the sky in front of me, showing off, asking me if I was ever as beautiful.

How could I ever match with that? That picture-perfect, classical, beautiful, regal show of how the world can be wonderful from time to time?

I close my eyes.

All of the hope that I may have ever had drains out from my body through my toes, into the sand, then gets swept up into the infinite depths of the ocean, rocking waves carrying it far away.

Perhaps it will arrive in the dust upon some other shore, maybe found by another loner, maybe just to sit there and be forgotten

(someone tore the page about me from the book of history).

The next day, the sky is a shade of grey, the clouds so thick and dark that I’m afraid they could collapse onto the earth and suffocate us all.

They glare at me with a taunting gaze, sneering, mocking me-

“Oh, it’s your own fault, you’re the one who emptied yourself, try as you might you can’t change”

(everything taunts me now)

(evil will never falter)

The clouds rumble, their thunder sounding like deep, booming laughter to me, this broken mess of being

the rain pours, hitting my face and soaking through my clothes, making my hair drip with The Lord’s tears

(tears because I want to throw everything He gave me away, feeling worthless, when really I have it all)

(tears because I failed)

and I stand, staring at the grey clouds, body shivering in the cold storm until

my knees give way and I melt into the ground

ready for the clouds to crack and fall upon me 

I don't know if this is accurate, but hey.

~

Being in love is a strange work of art.

Both the pain and the joy come straight from the heart.

The prospect of a perfectly lovely romance

Comes nearer and farther with every fleeting glance.

Is this what it's like to be slowly torn apart?

Sure feels like it, but this bleeding's a start.

A start of a healing, one old and perpetual,

And the waiting for that someone so ultra-special

Is what makes is worthwhile if you ever hear

'I love you, I have and I will, forever, my dear.' 

Angels sing

His heavenly Name

With beat of wing

and shake of mane

Let me praise

My Heavenly Father

With hands raised

and faith furthered. 

@Bluebird, ah, that's amazing! I love your that style and the descriptions.

NaPoWriMo has drawn to a close. This was my final poem!

Day 30- “The end only gets closer”.

When you’re stuck in a tunnel

nlack, cold, your knees aching on the frigid stone,

lift your chin up

and see

The light wavering at the end…

you will reach it

if you work hard

enough.

Everything comes to a close. (except God.)

Don’t fear the end of your own life or

the end of childhood. Everything in the world

knows what it is doing…

Do you? 

Little poetry dump! The first two are about sunsets, and the third is a prose-style poem about Autumn. These are some of my best poems, hope you like!

Sunsets, part 1

The sun, our star, giant sphere of life

Is crawling backwards, slowly saying its good-nights,

And while it sinks away the light engulfs it, brightening, morphing into

Ribbons of reds and oranges, pools of yellow and pink. Then they all

Collide, calmy twisting the laws of reality to form a bright, blazing

Picture of majesty and indescribable beauty.

Sunsets, part 2

The clouds, masses of crystalized liquid, stand like guards,

Sprinkled in the sky to defend the baby blue from the

Streaks of pastel elegance that are creeping slowly up the slope

On the dome of the sky

But the streaks travel and bleed across the canvas like

Watery paints smeared by a child

And shine right through the clouds, adding an

Ethereal glow to an already heavenly picture

Too soon, the rainbow gives way to the

Black night to

Let the stars shine.

An Ode to Autumn

Autumn. More than mellow-toned leaves falling away from branches. More than pumpkins with jagged triangles cut onto their hollow bodies. More than a scavenger hunt for the best houses to get candy from. Much, much more. Rather, it's the soft scent of spices trailed and woven into the cool breeze. The soft crunch of decaying leaves under your feet as you stroll about the wooded trails. The visits to the orchards, cardigans drawn around arms and  mugs of warm apple cider clutched in cold fingers. The going outside in jeans and light jackets, rake in hand, and bringing the soothing rainbow of red and maroon and brown and muddy yellow into a pile, then charging headfirst into it and hearing the satisfying crunch under the weight of your body.

Autumn. Glorified only by those who can weave Autumn's very essence into words, masterfully crafted, read in awe. The very few with the gift to make the reader feel every aspect of this wild miracle all at once.

For me, Autumn never gets its justice- it stands in Summer's shadow, only peeking its head out to sprinkle a little magic in the air. We're all still young, still only seeing the freedom from school in Summer. But I notice the small things that make Autumn the best- the crisp scent imprinted in the air, the layer of leaves covering the grass, the amazing affect of sitting in a car and staring out the window at the multicolored trees blending together in their ethereal majesty as you whiz by.

Oh, Autumn! I write this for you and your underappreciated magic, your silent miracles, your unique essence capped with dancing leaves. The poetic sing for you, begging for your brief presence in our unworthy midst. So humble in your graceful actions, so kind in your delicate death to give way for more life.

Your wonderful creations mystify me. But I would rather watch and love your gifts than understand all of your workings. 

(P.S Boo says faat! No, I am not fat!!)