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Click hereRain falls on desolate streets,
Pounding the unfeeling pavement relentlessly,
Hurling electric blue bolts from the heavens toward the earth,
Striking living trees and severing telephone lines.
The thunder roars and fades as if frustrated,
The clouds blot out the moon,
Pouring out rain like a scorned lovers tears.
It is in the roar and the lightning,
With rain thick as iron sheets in the air,
That the hours fade into oblivion,
Leaving only the deluge,
The rage of the storm,
The beauty of the flashing clouds,
And the rhythm of the pounding rain.
That's what really made this poem, those last lines, turning the hammering, hazardous hostility of a real rain storm into the strange king of majestic beauty it can actually become. Very nice.