The strike

March 30, 2018
By paige.baylee BRONZE, Fort Collins , Colorado
paige.baylee BRONZE, Fort Collins , Colorado
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

I watch as tiny raindrops

plop to the cement. 

The harsh, dry, grey turns to 

a soothing, damp, ash.

 

I take a deep breath 

my favorite scent

fills my nasal passages, 

and I close my eyes.

 

Raindrops, clear and beautiful, 

land on my warm skin

and slide down my cheecks.

I run my fingers through my stringy hair.

It's cold and wet. 

 

I start to walk, 

the rain begins to pour down

with more force,

as my pace quickens.

 

I begin to run for my life, 

a loud clap of thunder

makes me jump out of my skin.

I stop to see a firey bolt strike infront of my face.

And suddenly my world is in flames. 


The author's comments:

This poem is a harmony of both good things and awful things. The article represents a pleasent sprinkle of rain in the begining but as time progresses the storm intensifies and and the person's life begins to burn down around her. The message of her pain means that although something is pleasant and lovely as it starts, all good things come to an end. In this instance, it's a bitter end. The lighting stikes and she sees her life as almost over. 


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