9
votes
antediluvian
gusts of wind pick up in pace
and oaken leaves they make to shake.
chirps and flaps as birds make haste
and hooves all trample in escape.
above, the clouds, they morph and move
bearing an ocean in their womb.
forest florals stare in rue;
effulgence dims as darkness blooms.
the rumbling clouds envelope all.
a drip, a drop. and the rain falls.
and though the canopy may stall,
a dribble starts and rends the wall.
a torrent soars towards the floor.
the land, to sea, returns once more.
in time, the green but will restore.
in time, the clouds but will reform.
i wrote this at a creative writing workshop with the following three randomly generated words as the prompt: frequency, dribble, oak.
a trunk, returned to earth.
branches gouge the ground.
where once a giant stood,
the remnants can be found.
a stench of amber lifeblood,
that soon begins to fade,
as lumber is removed,
in lieu of concrete paved.
the rains no more are slowed by leaves,
by canopy of ancients.
blackened tarmac won't preserve
this sundered dirt foundation.