the storm [Theme] Page 1

Do you remember the thunderstorm sparkling?
But you all didn't notice her threats!
At night from a blank sheet
I'll wipe you out! You're genetic scum!
You won't know how the war ended.
Yesterday the rocket went into the distance!
The deadly wind will cleanse the cities again,
Music pain on his shoulders!

Dark to come... the inquisitive mind of people
Before the secret, he freezes impotently:
Who's to say - is the day there flickering golden
Is there a new thunderstorm playing?
In vain a man in confusion and longing
The coming centuries are inquisitively questioned.
Who understood this light shining in the distance -
Is the dawn lit up there, is the light flickering?

A thunderstorm swept into the distance, the past is forgotten,
And the inner voice says to me sometimes:
Isn't it a dream of all that has been experienced?
And change your mind.

The heart will again believe in distant happiness.

The pumpkin is blooming.

Once the imperial frigate was going from Skarn to Baringof,
And there was Arianna, the queen of the badgers.
Then a strong wind rose, suddenly a thunderstorm broke out,
The ship's mast was torn off and the sails were torn.
And the frigate would crash in unexplored places,
But on the ship was a clever rat about two tails.
On the remaining mast he is for business, not beauty -
Instead of a sail, I wearing royal shorts! 0-ho-ho! Royal briefs!
He saved Arianna and comforted her at night.
Maybe he's not a badger, but he's a man for sure.
Oh and ah! The Queen sighs all about his tails!

Thunder struck unexpectedly, at first -
Furious blow and rumble protracted,
And then there was a slight noise,
Hurried, joyful and wet.
The rain roared quietly, chanting,
Watering the yard and roof of the house,
Whispering a humble raging anger
From the height of the thunder that broke down.

And a photo from a random window.

It is so given to love, to take care of Her.

It is generally accepted that lightning never strikes the same place twice - this is a delusion.

It doesn't make sense to call these types of clouds storm clouds. In fact, they symbolize the rift between the worlds. They generate lightning.

As well!... People!... Storm!... Still raining!

They say that people who constantly smile, broken inside. Is it really so? Maybe these people are just hypocrites. Maybe they really had an accident, which they are trying to hide behind a forced smile. Trying to be strong, hold it all inside torn to pieces.
Is it a force?
A strong man someone who can actually confide in someone; friend, loved one, even a simple stranger. The one who has the guts to step on the throat of own pride and take the only right decision.
But do not trust everyone. People lying, hypocritical, only care about themselves, scum. Not all of them. Of course, not all.
But among the thousands to find the right and reliable? Only by trial and error. To make mistakes is not terrible, mistakes to learn from; scary again step on the same rake, do not learn the lesson.
It is not necessary to bend to public opinion. If it you care so much, and you feel unhappy whenever they thought about you not coincide with your own, then you're doomed to be unhappy always. Because no one ever thinks about us the way that we do.
Low self-esteem and self-doubt generate in man a feeling of helplessness and develop an inferiority complex. "Complexes - a prison for the soul...". No one can make you feel inadequate without your consent. You yourself put yourself in last place, therefore, the other put you there. And the worst thing in the inferiority complex that possess them not to those who would follow.
I sincerely admire people without complexes. In my opinion, they cleanse and tone the air like a thunderstorm. They always reach their goals because they do not interfere with the stiffness and self-doubt.

Déjà les beaux jours, la poussière,
Un ciel d'azur et de lumière
Enflammés Les murs, les longs soirs;
Et rien de vert: à peine encore
Un reflet rougeâtre décore
Les grands arbres aux rameaux noirs!
Ce beau temps me pèse et m ennuie,
Ce n'est qu après des jours de pluie
Que doit surgir, en un tableau,
Le printemps et rose verdissant;
Comme une nymphe fraîche éclose,
Qui souriante, sort de l'eau.




Warm and dusty, blue without edge,
And, the walls are dimly stained
Sunsets smolder late
But you will not find sheets green:
Only a reddish smoke on the crowns
And the network of branches, black-black.
I these days only trays:
I'm waiting for a thunderstorm, fun showers,-
Then, relieved of their anxiety from sleep,
Like the female-the Naiad
In pink and green outfit
From the depths emerges a spring.