What's there to rebel against?
We dream
Yet our lives pass without us
believing they're fairytales.
We fail
Yet every dead-end's covering a hole
to a less-marched landscape.
We conform
Yet a seed sleeps in our attic
sprouting deep to bloom that day.
YOU ARE READING
Waiting for the Rain to Fall
PoetryPoems that twine thread around the broken bits of a soul, that fling umbrella lips into beaming buckets and kind of just make you want to say, "life is beautiful, isn't it?" - a totally unbiased review from me, the author.
