The rain.
Usually a signal of a bad day.
I find peace in it often.
It's something for my eyes to get lost in.
The thunder might crack
the lightning may shine,
and trees might crash,
and winds may whine.
Yet, I still sit outside,
counting the drops hours at a time.
One, two, three, four,
and millions and millions more.
Sure, there might be sirens,
warning of an imminent disaster.
There might be dark spirals,
and people screaming, "Get inside, you bastard!"
But I'll still sit outside
counting the drops hours at a time.
Five, six, seven, eight,
I'll finally have an escape.
I look up and finally realize the danger before me,
a look of a giant gray swirl.
Hoisted up a thousand feet high,
soaring past the clouded sky.
I close my eyes, this is all a dream right?
But soon enough, I'll really see the night.
*slam*...
...I'm alive
I gain vision for a moment.
A few raindrops still drip down.
Nine. ten.
And only then, do I finally reach the end.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Collections
PoetryUpdated every so often. Title art by Nicola Samori (check his art out he's my favorite artist rn). A/N: Randomly got on a huge poetry kick. I've always liked poetry but never really wrote it until recently. I've been wanting to share some that I've...
