My son is a Genius! (Oklohoma Tornado Poem)

by Raydal
6 replies
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He wrote this poem about the Moore Tornado ... He is 15 yrs old.

"Silence" by Daseph Edwards


It came in late May,
A huge gulf of wind:
Invisible and mute,
It came and went.
Unknown of its being,
Unknown of its crime.


The most scary thing
I have ever seen:
A natural disaster
(which means nothing
Since all death is--
But natural).


There were pillars of every kind
Some natural, made of wood,
While others of gypsum, made by mankind,
All standing for the good.


But now the pillars have gone,
Eaten by the disaster;
Now all that the people have to lean on:
Their sisters and brothers.


In this moment
A rift is formed:
Parents apart
From their kids,
Unknowing, of their fate,
(The wind
Is torturous).


But soon by grace
They meet once again;
At the school yard
Of the broken school:
The scene explodes.
Parents fuse with
Teachers--now heroes--
Their kids,
And each other;
Giving off strong cries,
And blazing passion.


The barrier is broken, and emotions flow,
From frightened parent to worried child.
If they were uncertain--surely now they know,
How deep their parent's love is wild.


Yet, though much chaos is present,
There is in this, much silence;
Not in the physical--but inside the parents,
Where the heart has found quiescence.


Some have died
Even more injured,
And that death toll
Will most likely rise.
Along with the voices
Of those who've lost,
And lost themselves.


The President
Does what he can,
And fights silence,
With silence.
He knows well
That there is victory,
In the silent face.


The biggest man in the entire country,
Yet helpless in this most trying hour.
Lifting up prayers, confessing mortality:
That not a few things are out of man's pow'r.


We know of the processes of nature,
Why the behemoth gusts, must destroy all in its way,
But emerging upon it, all we can but utter:
"The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away."


We can't explain it:
The wind is still
Mysterious.
It knows nothing
Knows no one
And destroys,
Everything.


Still yet in this,
Yes even in this
Mass destruction--
Is creation birthed:
The hills, the peaks,
Are all eroded,
And the earth is made flat.


Ground zero, where all are made even,
Where a revelation is birthed:
That titles, ranks, and class are inventions,
And that we all stand upon the same earth.


We cry at the same images and scenes,
For a while, we're are all one,
Coming to heal our country's broken seam,
Working together under one mighty sun.


It came in late May
A huge gulf of wind:
Invisible and mute,
It came and went.
Unknown of its being,
Unknown of its crime.


The most scary thing
I have ever seen:
A disaster
(Thou maybe not
That horrid
Or that evil).


There were pillars, high and classical,
But it reminded us that all is nought;
For empires today, are soon dens for animals,
The only true value lays in the unbought.


Alas, the pillars are now refuse,
Eaten up by the disaster,
But the greatest treasure we can ever lose,
Is our sisters and brothers.


Perchance if it
Is wholly evil;
This one good it has.
For showing us
That one another;
Is all, that we really have.



-Ray Edwards
  • Profile picture of the author Kay King
    Some serious insight from a 15 yr old!
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    • Profile picture of the author Raydal
      Originally Posted by Kay King View Post

      Some serious insight from a 15 yr old!
      He just sits down by his laptop and write poems literally all day!
      But he does have gift. I was definitely not writing like that when
      I was 15.

      -Ray Edwards
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  • Profile picture of the author thunderbird
    That is a very powerful and moving poem. Your son has great writing talent and, more importantly, is inspired vs those indviduals only create when there is a contest or an assignment. Is this the same son who sings like a nightingale in the video you shared here?
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    • Profile picture of the author Raydal
      Originally Posted by thunderbird View Post

      Is this the same son who sings like a nightingale in the video you shared here?
      LOL. No, that's his younger brother. He plays the piano. He HATES
      writing.

      -Ray Edwards
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  • Profile picture of the author Jacqueline Smith
    You should be very proud of your son.

    His writing is beautiful and his soul is so deep.
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  • Profile picture of the author carnal
    This is pretty impressive, considering your son is only 15 years old.

    I am much older than your son and I still do not know how to write a long poem.
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