The Storm Starter

Before:
He commands all storms
he raises his hands up,
his breath freezes the air,
he pulls the clouds together,
They stay still waiting for his call
His hands fall
and then they break, spilling white flakes everywhere.
the Trees begin to bend
the roads disappear
His voice rings out
And the wind’s howl wildly
when the storms power beings to creep
the world becomes quiet, buried deep

After:
He calls the storms
with his hands raised up
his breath freezes,
the air is still.
Clouds? They wait
His hands drop,
and crack, the flakes fall
scattered,
chaos falls from the sky.
The trees bend
they shouldn’t be bending.
Roads? Gone.
His voice? Is it even a voice?
The howl is there,
as his power begins to creep
the world becomes quiet
too quiet—
burying everything deep.

In my revision, I tried let the chaos of the poem mirror the chaos of the storm. When I was breaking down the poem, I was trying to make it imperfect and funky just how Dickinson and Keats used imperfection to deepen meaning. So, the imperfection in my poem added intensity which helped me capture the storm’s power.