The rain arrived. It broke the heat. The cars and trucks which issue
From the subdivision to the east to clog our once untravelled road,
Withdrew. There was no sound, but thunder. From the porch, I
Wondered whether all my times of taking shelter, hearing thunder,
Waiting for the clouds to part, had totalled hundreds, maybe
Thousands, through the years. Who knows? I don't suppose it
Matters. I enjoyed the pleasant isolation that such storms can
Bring. I savored that wet soil smell, but, suddenly as it had come,
The rain was gone and all those noisome cars were back again.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2024-05-13 at 00:35

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
A poem that actually reflects on both time and the change that goes/comes with it. Is it that we all question the past and unable to quantify it wonder if it really matters? It is the age old conundrum of what is actually important in life: The number of times we've witnessed a storm, or that one time when we grabbed someone's hand and in doing so changed their lives for the better? Blessings, Allen

alarian The PoetBay support member heart!
"Who knows? I don't suppose it
I like this part because everything in this universe is made to lead to that conclusion...I wonder if people who made Gods were old...