The Rush...
Through the opened orifice
of humanities consciousness,
the whirling, whirring, rush of rain;
tumults round the asphalts plane.
Spritzing, spreading, shrieking, zing…
the staccato sounds of wet spring;
the tinkling chimes, the brass banter
the clop of clogs, children canter.
All the sizzle of an oiled pan.
All the sparkle of dew on land.
All pummeled, a peonies pain,
the soundless swirl petals, drain.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
