PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

storm over the plains

I  

step onto the quivering dust of midday,  

where the heat hums like a distant hymn.  

Above, brazen sky folds heavy wings,  

cocking its head to gauge the earth’s pulse,  

and I in turn brace for the storm’s birth.

II  

A restless wind stirs the ochre mantle,  

scattering leaves like prophets in flight.  

I taste the iron grit on my lips  

and hear the first faint bass of thunder  

rolling up from plains parched and patient.

III  

Cloud masses tumble in brooding ranks,  

each a steel-gray wave poised to crash.  

Light angles through in sudden flares,  

igniting the horizon’s fevered edge,  

as if the sky itself had shattered glass.

IV  

Then comes the hammer—  

first silver ribbons of rain,  

soft as whispered absolution,  

falling in cathartic confession  

to cleanse the cracked skin of the land.

V  

I spread my arms and tilt my face,  

letting the tempest baptize my bones,  

feeling wild energy coil and uncoil  

through each artery and vessel—  

a bloodline pledged to thunder’s roar.

VI  

When the sky exhales its final sigh,  

and the plains lie trembling, renewed,  

I bend to drink from the pool it leaves—  

cool water carving paths through clay,  

echoing the journey of rebirth.