the rain comes down in curtains,
the gray hangs like a drape;
there's some days, we want comfort,
while others, just escape.
the drops like tears upon the pane,
the sky, in misery --
the distance, one of galaxies
between each you, each me --
the rain comes down regardless,
clouds restless over head;
and puddles gather everywhere
made up of what's
unsaid
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Tagged: Tags Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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