Flames of orange and blue and white
Flickers of warmth fly in the night
The waves of fire storm like the sea
Oh how different the two should be
One of water and one of sun
Yet somehow their paths are one
They cause destruction and often fear
Yet they bring strength and draw life nearer
One of dark and one of light
The one of dark is often fight
The other one being often might
It can't be clear, though, which is which
For how can one not see a switch
Between the way a storm is viewed
For the choice of fear is distinctly crude
Waves of green and blue and white
Splashes of cold spray in the night
The flames of water storm like the blaze
Oh how alike are the opposite ways
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Thursday, September 24, 2015
Lightning crashes and thunder rumbles.
Nature roars and creatures tumble.
In the unbalance of the wind,
Words get swished around and spin.
Others get zapped by the pale king lightning--
--Knighted thunder growls rather frightening.
However, when the storm finally comes to an end,
It leaves a world of beauty and mend,
An imaginative novel that rises to the top,
Like the sun rays giving the landscape a hop.
No reader remembers or knows of the storm,
The one that existed before book's true form.
Some just smile and say that the rainbows are nice,
Or to some the end's great but then give some advice.
Others struggle to push through the storm,
To gather their words and to make them conform.
Everyone gets wet when they write their storm of puddles,
And every time they find a word, the thing goes off and scuttles.
Nature roars and creatures tumble.
In the unbalance of the wind,
Words get swished around and spin.
Others get zapped by the pale king lightning--
--Knighted thunder growls rather frightening.
However, when the storm finally comes to an end,
It leaves a world of beauty and mend,
An imaginative novel that rises to the top,
Like the sun rays giving the landscape a hop.
No reader remembers or knows of the storm,
The one that existed before book's true form.
Some just smile and say that the rainbows are nice,
Or to some the end's great but then give some advice.
Others struggle to push through the storm,
To gather their words and to make them conform.
Everyone gets wet when they write their storm of puddles,
And every time they find a word, the thing goes off and scuttles.
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