Poem

The dark skies that rule the night,

with clouds like giants floating above,  

thunder booming with each step they take.

There grins flashing like lightning, 

as they look down and laugh at the pain that is bellow.  

Seeing the rain they walk on beat down on the cold world.

The small people below hide under anything they can, 

hoping the giants above will pass quickly.

Hoping that the sun will rise and everything will be ok,

but many know differently.

They know that the sun will not rise.

They know the giants have won,

and everything has changed.

Onomatopoeia, Anaphora, Simile