All sixes and a perfect, untouched ten.
I fell in love with the thought of you then.
Blind, white fury; my unforecasted storm,
Oncoming to spite that grinning sunshine,
Blazing much brighter; your image sublime
And I taste your headache inducing tang,
Building, fit to burst luminescent joy
Over all the falls I had as a boy.
You come to me a cloudy mass unknown,
Expelling every passion all as one,
Until you're wasted, blown and all but gone.
Until you're wasted and all but gone...the finish that drives it home, Sir. Poet Nice One!
ReplyDeleteNice ending befitting of a strong short Adam. Blown out like a sure fire monsoon :)
ReplyDeleteAwesome
ReplyDeletegot to watch those storms they can blow through and wreak all kinds of havoc...well played sir
ReplyDeleteThe wailing of the storm can come on strong and leave the same, one just has to weather it out. Nicely done!
ReplyDeleteOh my!! The progression from a wild dream to a lost love is so beautifully portrayed here, Adam...
ReplyDeleteLoved the metaphors in your poem! Very effective indeed!
Sometimes in the worst weather, the brightest rainbow appears..
ReplyDeleteI favor short poems and this was a great read. Thank you for sharing!
I so wish I'd written this...an absolutely brilliant poem.
ReplyDelete