The Storm: Before and After

Two poems I wrote that are related to each other. I'd love to know what you get out of them.

The Storm Silently Rages
The Skies are clear
The Wind is calm 
The Water is still
Yet a Storm silently rages

Boiling beneath the surface
Ominous cloud brings darkness, unnoticed
Thunder roils and cackles, unheard
Lightning strikes and blinds, unseen
Rain pelts bring pain, unfelt

The Skies are clear
The Wind is calm
The Water is Still
Yet a Storm silently rages

The Storm Boils Over

What Happens

When the storm boils over

When it reaches the surface

When the thunder becomes heard

When the lightning becomes seen

When the clouds' darkness becomes noticed 

When the rain pelts start to hurt

The Storm sweeps through

Wiping everything in its path

You can try to repair

You can try to rebuild

But will it ever be the same

Can the damage be replaced

Can the faith be restored

Will you ever feel secure

Will you ever feel right

After the storm boils over

My Application

With the recent death of Robin Williams, I was inspired to go back and watch some of his movies again. My Three favorites, in order are Dead Poets Society, Good Morning Vietnam and Aladdin. Watching Dead Poets reminded me how much I have neglected my own writing and poetry and thus have decided to start writing and posting some of my work. I am always open to constructive criticism so if you have some ideas to help me improve I would love to hear them. I will mainly be posting original work of my own, but may post some other people's as well. I am going to start with the poem that signifies the movie and the legacy that Robin Williams brought forth as John Keating in the Dead Poets Society though.

O Me! O Life!

BY WALT WHITMAN

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

                                      Answer.

That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.