One Hundred Nights of Thunder

4 posts
User avatar
Gender Female
Points 719
Reviews 562
Thanks for reading! :)


There’s been one hundred nights of thunder
A tenfold more of rain
My eyes are tired of lightning
And are riddled through with pain.
The booming and the bursting
Are burning me with hurt
Can’t stand a second more
Yet the storm remains inert.

I understand it’s power
I think I’ve got the gist
And now this endless shower
Must soon cease and desist.
End, end, you stupid storm
And give me back the past
I miss the sun, the snails, the worms,
That fled the spell you cast.


Spoiler
To be perfectly honest, I'm not terribly fond of this poem. I mostly posted it to get some CC so I can clean it up. I had the first four lines, and then out came the rest, but it sounds forced to me, and I don't know what to do with it. Thanks for the help. :)




User avatar
Gender Female
Points 972
Reviews 39
Hi-ya :)

That's a really interesting idea for a poem and I like it. It's a bit scattered and changes direction to soon sometimes and that destroys the flow which is highly necessary for poems. Other than than that you did a good job (..perhaps you got add more to it but that's a matter of opinion). Overall it was a good read.

-Blossom




User avatar
Gender Male
Points 7650
Reviews 147
To quote Helena from A Midsummer Night's Dream: If only your frowns could teach my smiles.




User avatar
Gender Female
Points 3817
Reviews 74
Hello!
So, I really like this poem. The title captured my attention right away and I knew it would be an interesting poem. :) I like the first stanza the best; especially the beginning of it.
There's only one little mistake I found:
I understand its power

"It's" is only used for "it is".
This was good; the rhyming is consistent and I just like the overall idea of it.
Great work!
Do we not all agree to call rapid thought and noble impulse by the name of inspiration?
- George Eliot


"It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart."



I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
— Pablo Neruda