With the maiden drops of rain
I washed my
tears
the dead
grass was reborn with joy
the cracked earth
drank the rain
in open
mouthed thirst in large swings
another
season of possibilities
for
regeneration of life.
But my tears
never create
or generate anything
impotent sad
streams flow down
spreading
the message of my pain
never waits
to hear its own blues
I cry in
stealth lest
my emptiness
will be caught
if anyone
hears the flow of
my lonely
anthem:
But the rain
hides nothing
it flows
down from the sulking sky
to fill life
in all waste and void.
Why should I
cry then
if my tears
are imbecile?
Tears of mournful heart
serves
stories of a failed mind
alone in the
wild growth of the heart.
I will now
laugh full of life
grow the
harvest of laughs
on the
cracked feelings
beating fast
my own cloud drums..
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