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Beautiful
March 14, 2018
The grieving sky wears a desolate look
The water turns to a dangerous metal
The rainfall drowns me
The dazzling uncertainty of the day
The dry, dangerous feeling of darkness
It's like the work of an evil child
There are many bad omens
Desolate, are my feelings
Desolate, is the landscape
Desolate
And then it begins to clear
The sun looks out from behind the clouds
Its shine is beautifully bright
It is like a vestige of comfort
It is a feeling of happiness
It is a feeling of pleasure
It is strange and beautiful
All my worries have vanished
Beauty, is my generality
Beauty, is the sky
Beauty
© Stephen V., West Richland, WA
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This is a found poem, meaning that I took an existing text and rearranged the words to make something else. I actually had two sources; Mark Twain's "A Toast to the Oldest Inhabitant: The Weather of New England" and an excerpt from John Steinbeck's "Travels with Charley".