The Last Gift

I was writing this while listening to a storm cd to relax my nerves. I visualized this scene to go along with the music.

The sky is slowly darkening

The air is still

A peaceful rhythm of quiet thunder

Rumbles in the distant sky

Moving ever nearer

Thin columns of far away rain

Line the horizon

And glow in the sun's soft rays

Warming the scene

Casting fear out of a gentle soul

One could embrace a vision so serene

Even as the storm Gods

Brew a batch of lightning

And surge their electric fingers

To a lonely oak in a meadow

Lavender hills wave now

The wind stirring

Cottonwood trees let there seeds

Drift to the sea

Snow on the earth

And frost the grasslands

An old lady rocks on her porch

Holding a cup of hot chamomile tea

Watching the mountainous clouds

Roll towards her

She looks to the heavens

The breeze carressing her aged skin

Angels surround her

Prepare her for her time

She smiles as the gift of storm

Captures her heart

And for the last time

She sees nature

Amplified

Glorioius

Tranquil

And she gently slips away with grace in her spirit...

Reviews

[James Paulin]

I feel this poem would make a nice ballad with its gentle rhythm. I enjoyed reading it! Thanks for the comment on Essence.

[An owl on the moon]

I love the visual nature of your poem, and I can see each element of the storm moving in. The ending is simply beautiful, filled with a deep sense of peace. Exellent!