Randomosity: A Collection of Random Poems

Storms

The clouds grow dark and dimly lit.

The sky hides. The sun quits.

The falling tears of angels come,

Snow as well;  the storm isn't done.

The field across me brightly lit,

By the mark the lightning hits.

Any flame quietly muffled.

The trees not even ruffled.

Sunny day are not what I wish for,

This is much better than summer's store.

Behind me, the flooring creaks,

While the screen door squeaks.

I sit here thinking, quietly,

As I'm approached by my Nonie,

She says "Dinner is almost done

The rain's too dreary for you little one."

"I'll be in soon," I reassure,

But the rain's only dreary to her.