It was raining this afternoon, so I took an old poem (the last one) and added two more to it. Should I have left it alone? Do you like the other two better? Please tell me!
Blue grows grey as though it aged
A hundred years in a minute.
The air waits, its nerves on end,
Expecting to be broken any moment-
Charged and filled and whirled
In some ancient dance.
And the air waits.
Fat drops spill,
Like the tears of a child,
With tiny explosions
Over cement, steel, brick, and mud-
One by one slowly.
And then the sky exploded.
Noise and light and water
Pouring from heaven
To bless some.
The earth is cleansed
And all is fresh and new
I can almost see the flowers grow
After the thunder.
The drama, clashes of the white-haired,
Bushy bearded sky kings,
As they throw their bolts of light and shout
Making the thunder.
I see fresh green in all
The grass, the trees, the shrubs,
The weeds sprung up in my garden bed
Clean from the thunder.
I close my eyes to breathe in spring's fresh scent,
And catch instead steel, road, and gasoline
From the metal menace cruising down my street.
I liked the thunder.