I feel the sulky insult to my sense's sensibility,
the frail interpretation of the worlds soft humility.
The weather is confused a bit and I am just the same,
the shock of wet has ebbed a bit and now in different frame.
Perhaps it knows I need to feel a difference of sensation,
the torrent that I have inside has run its long duration.
The cleanliness of rain and storm is not just for the earth,
the smell of renewed ozone has been wondrous since birth.
The splash of sunshine on my face now found in liquid form,
was it the heat of weather or my soul that made it warm?
I feel the need to note upon this notable event,
it seems that sometimes even weather just might need to vent.
Author notes
This was a game that ACpoetry, Brian Balzer and a few others played where we all agreed on a topic(warm rain in this case) and wrote a poem about it in under 10 minutes. This was mine.
Adding your comment:
