let the rain fall down,
my child;
no god can answer
your prayers.
let the rain fall down,
my child;
the villain has
vanquished the hero.
let the rain fall down,
my child;
so that the lightning
can slay the demon.
YOU ARE READING
Burning Home
Poetry[ a poetry collection about grieving and becoming. ] I wish for the day when flowers no longer sink in water. When their eyes gaze not ignominy but proud; even dust can be seen as gold. And exhaustion feels rewarding.
