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Blinding Thunderstorm

Not About Love

Although some of the greatest poems in English literature are about the romantic kind of love, who told you that a poem to be considered a "good"piece of writing must necessarily be about that subject. Many great poets have turned into art an infinity of subjects that for the common and not very open to beauty heart, have little of pure beauty. To cite some of those examples, some well-liked themes of the poets include religious engineering, darkness, and of course, nature and its beauty.

Thunder and Lighting

Thunder

Thunder

The Poem

The deep bluish-black cleft of the night above our mortal heads
moved erratically in all directions, doing a nighttime dance
As the storm clouds fell with the same strength of heavy rocks
from the west, turning east without any kind warning.

Clouds tinged with red are responsible for clouding our vision.
We can only see what is in front of us.

We can only hear what is in front of us.

We suddenly became blind.


It was no earthquake, but its force was very similar.

It was no made by humans bored of living.

It was an assault in the middle of a quiet day.

It was the thief nobody expected.



Sawed fire fingers quickly leaped far forward
recklessly paving the way for a withering downpour
attending the birth of a small hail settlement.

No words were spoken by the wise wind
and a million little raindrops made of ice crystals.

Strange juxtaposition of colors falling from the grey sky.

Leaning brown leaves turned into moving seas
amber fields started undulating in unison
religious farmers were hiding at home
Blessing the next irrigation their fields.


Clouds tinged with red are responsible for clouding our vision.
We can only see what is in front of us.

We can only hear what is in front of us.

We suddenly became blind.

And at the end of the way...
The fierce thunder screamed its battle cry
while lightning cut through the angry evening sky
the gentle rain soaked the sleeping land
Greedy soil quickly absorbed that meal.

Brown and eyes peek out the windows
puzzled by the intensity of the sudden storm
the sound surprises a wild rat
and it also dissipates quickly.

Clouds tinged with red are responsible for clouding our vision.
We can only see what is in front of us.

We can only hear what is in front of us.

We suddenly became blind.

Just as it started, it ended.

No more disturbing sounds.

No more fire coming from the sky.

No more bodies shaking because of fear.

Was it only a terrible nightmare?

Was only a vision of a disturbed man?
What’s the difference between them, anyways?

In the end, reality and dreams have the same origin.

Clouds tinged with red are responsible for clouding our vision.
We can only see what is in front of us.

We can only hear what is in front of us.

We suddenly became blind.


The strong violence of the night diminishes
as the majestic entourage completes its path
rolling majestically to nearby surroundings.

The raging lightning bolts are now lost specks of light.

Beauty of Nature

If you need to ask yourself why nature would be a good subject for a poem, you really need to get out of town more often. In a small stream, in the caress of the wind on your skin, in thunder and in every natural creation you can feel the greatness of life on this planet. You don't need to have a degree from the most expensive university to let your heart be moved by nature.

It doesn't matter if in the end, you don't end up writing a beautiful poem. What really matters is that you realize that there are really beautiful things on this planet that money will never buy.

Vicious Storm

Vicious Storm

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