The Sound of Rain

the sound of rain is
like nature’s peaceful retreat
for one who listens.



Four Seasons


the clouds were majestic and beautiful, sweeping gallantly through the air with the sky as the ballroom and earth as the audience.
gaping mouths opened and snow coated the lands in a sugary coat of white, a gentle but steady downpour upon bare soil.
clouds breathed and wind swept forth, churning the desolate landscape and urging it to movement.
water was captured and frozen to a rigid solid substance and refused to be stirred.

thus, winter birthed and died.


green reared its lovely head once more, daring to break through a frigid barrier and emerge from an icy prison.
warmth was bred and coldness turned tail and fled, leaving ice and snow to hiss and dissolve away in defeat.
naked branches were clothed in green foliage and flowers sprung free and radiated colorful glory.
earth was bathed in light until the clouds returned and opened mouths to spew torrents of rain, proceeding to fed and nourish life.
life, which bounded joyously through golden meadows and strived amongst rich forests and gardens.

thus, spring birthed and died.


the sun turned brutal and water precious as gold, the slightest breeze received as a blessing.
the sky transitioned to soft blue and the clouds floated thick and flocculent.
evening storms shook the earth but fed the grass and stirred humid air.
life flourished amidst the shade.

thus, summer birthed and died.


shriveled leaves gave way to brilliant shades of red, orange, yellow.
cold crept in and whispered promising threats.
the clouds toiled and sensed yet another change, prompting the winds to rush about in excitement and rustle branches, ripple stilled waters.
leaves crunched and the air took on a slight chill.
tension strangled the atmosphere as the earth prepared for a new season.

thus, autumn birthed and died.


the earth was made to accept change and new life.
the seasons were made to birth and die, to repeat an endless cycle no matter the circumstances.
one cannot destroy winter’s icy touch or spring’s quiet rebellion or summer’s fiery temper or autumn’s crunchy taste.

thus, four seasons shall continue to birth and die.

Tell Me A Story

Tell Me A Story

tell me a story
of joy, of laughter.
tell me a story
of the brightest hope and the strongest love.

tell me a story
of horrible pain and heartbreak.
tell me a story
of a sorrow so deep and a struggle so hard.

tell me a story
of danger and adventure.
tell me a story
of a journey that will suck me in and devour me whole.

tell me a story
of everything you’ve ever dreamed.
tell me a story
of the most intricate detail of beautiful things.

tell me a story
of joy,
of love,
of hope,
of pain,
of heartbreak,
of sorrow,
of adventure,
of beauty,
of change.

tell me a story
of the brave,
of the kind,
of the meek,
of the bold,
of the joyous,
of the lost,
of the found,
of the broken,
of the whole.

tell me a story
I have never heard before.
tell me a story
I will never forget.

Tell me your story.



rocky seas
an ocean breeze
do not stay away

sea salt sprays
it mixes with your tears
why did you come here?

listen to the waves
why don’t you explore a cave?
touch the sun’s gentle rays

don’t be afraid to smile
please, stay awhile
stand here and stay all day

watch as the great Artist paints
the sky is His canvas
He paints for you, my dear

lift your face to the sky
please, don’t pass this by
breathe in the moment

appreciate the little things people miss
and please, please remember this:
little things matter the most sometimes

don’t be afraid to get sunkissed


What Now?

Well…I wrote thirty poems for NaPoWriMo. No, I did not do it all in a month. But I did it for the motivation, the push to try my hand at a new form of writing: poetry.

Now, looking back, I can really see the change from my first poems to my last. I feel like I’ve improved a lot. There’s definitely still room for more improvement, but I’m glad to see my efforts weren’t pointless. I really enjoyed setting apart time every other day or so to actually write a poem, and it’s something I’ll surely do again next year.

So, what now? Originally, I had planned to only be active on this blog to post my NaPoWriMo poems. But I want to keep writing poetry throughout the year, so I think I’ll keep posting every now and then. Sound good?

Thanks to every single reader and follower for taking time to read this little blog! Have a lovely evening.


Day Thirty: The Meaning of Change

The Meaning of Change

Change comes like a thief in the night,
snatching your dreams and making you watch as they dissolve before your eyes.
Piece by piece it all falls apart as the clock scolds you harshly,
tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

Watch as the minute hand moves ever so slowly
but ever so quickly.
Watch and soon the minutes will turn to hours;
the hours will turn to days and the days will turn to weeks
and the weeks to years
and why are you still sitting here?

Change unfolds all around as time moves on
and as your tears fall
and as your mouth smiles
and as your eyes close
and as your body grows old
and as the days turn cold.

When change comes and grabs you by the hand
will you follow with a courageous smile
or will it drag you as you mope?
Will you whisper
“bring it on”
or will you cry
“let me go?”

And when the change comes and goes,
I bet you’ll turn around and look back
and you’ll realize something:

For if that had not happened,
what would you have lost instead?

Day Twenty-Nine: Reflection


She looked down
and saw a reflection
of the girl she didn’t want them to see.

She kept trying to cover it up,
kept trying to trample the image,
but it just wouldn’t let her be.

She closed her eyes and tried to erase it,
but she knew the reflection was still there;
it wouldn’t ever leave, no matter her desperate plea.

She didn’t want them to see her true self
because the flaws were raw and the scars open;
truth and lie don’t ever agree.

Maybe if she truly looked,
if she saw how beautiful the reflection was,
maybe then she would let herself free.