April showers bring May flowers,
April wringing out the life with force.
Or maybe it is that May simply persists,
Recovering once April's run its course.
April is a cruel, complex maiden.
Don't hate her. She wishes no ill.
January just broke her heart and mind,
So all that remains is her cold will.
May still loves her, but she bleeds,
Her life buried under rain and cloud.
She sows seeds when April looks away
And bears the tears that stain her ground.
April's tears flow with harsh words,
Empty insults leaving her lips in the breeze.
May takes them all, crying in the attic,
But she stays, so certain she can appease.
But April left her love, ungrateful and confused,
Blaming another soul for her haunting agony.
It's hopeless when April carries her own mind with her.
It was never May or her perfume of mahogany.
April will always be dead, but May will bloom.
As she heals, she will forge bruises and rain into life.
She will take what little good is left in April's waters,
And in her determination, she will overcome her strife.
YOU ARE READING
Rose, Prose, Poetry
Thơ caExploring topics of love, limerence, grief, and everything in between, this is a collection of 100 poems written over a year. The works both reflect inner emotions and outward connections, attempting to capture the interconnected nature of the worl...
