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Temperate Cataclysm
fell in love just yesterday on a March spring day when the first storm appeared in an obscure thunderhead above
he roared, he hammered on rooftop at peak, lines of rain fell like vines reaching downward for me to climb
he soaked a self in fresh rainwater and bathed me gingerly in timed rhythm, tapping upon an existence cultivated within a saturated chest
he shook his head once more, tapering off as quietly as he came, tapping from an existence cultivated within a saturated cloud
~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell
written 03/23/2010 6:10 am est
edited 03/23/2010 7:24 am est
photo edited 06/22/2010 4:36 am est
great poem, reminds me of Shelley's-'The Cloud', metaphors of hers are as good as some of his, for instance-'lines of rain fell like/
ReplyDeletevines reaching downward for me to climb', this poem enbodies quiet passion like no other I have read, the loud clap and soft reframe of the stormy soul is held beautifully here.