I’m taking a poetry class this semester. So far, I have learned that rhyming is hard and iambic pentameter can die in a fire. To quote Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing, “I was not born under a rhyming planet.” Either way, here’s what I came up with. I don’t even care that it isn’t in iambic pentameter because–as I stated above–the damn thing can go die.
Clouds cover the moon, leaving the night black.
Lightning flashes streak through the darkened sky
Perfect darkness momentarily wracked.
Thunder comes seconds after, miles away.
There’s something calming about storms, soothing.
The best nights are those with no rain or snow
When the wind is warm, whipping, wild, wailing,
And the grass is cool beneath my bare toes.
The thunder calls and I must go to it,
Swaying in the yard, peaceful, blissful,
In the noise of wind and crash and spirit
Eternity awaits in thunder’s lull.
I have never slept so well as during a storm,
Peace in my bed, trusting thunder to bring me home.