My first ever poem

Anticipation, that is how it begins.
That still state that prefaces action.
Near tortorous are those moments of silence.
Until that first drop appears.
This in turn provokes action, my patience
is rewarded, as thousands of it's bretheren
swarm out like an angry horde.

The horde steadies it's flow with a rumble,
and a soft sigh of exhiliration.
My excitment peaks as I embrace what I have
called forth. Letting it wash over me, the
very nature f it peirces to the soul.

Scouring me utterly, until it leaves behind
a measure of stillness.
A soul at peace for a time, until the memory
of it's touch has faded.

The End

1 comment about this poem Feed