Water falls without restraint
Invisible, til a window or headlight
Exposes it.
Here is the beauty and sorrow of nature raw.
Here is nature as it washes—
Here is nature as it cleanses—
The dirt from the streetlamp, the road, the person.
But let expose my face to the clouds.
I am young, yet I am filthy beyond measure.
Flow through me, rain, I beseech you.
Flow through me, until my eyes imitate you with rain of their own.
And it makes me wonder, for they call this crying
Are you crying?
Nature, do you cry for your state by man wrecked?
Nature, do you cry for our ignorance and filth?
Nature, do you cry for your leaving?
The water ebbs, and here I am
In the shadow of the streetlight
Now our tears are equal
Then a stripe of colour breaks
Out over the sky.
Your attempt to smile.
But we all know that it’s an illusion.
It’s beautiful,
And I realise
That I can do it too.
It’s beautiful,
And I realise
That it comforts, soothes
It is my responsibility.
I get up
On my feet
And walk down this one way street.
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AN: Attempt no. 2 at writing a no-rhymes poem. Result? Hopefully better than the last one. But I don't know. You tell me.
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Anarchy
PoetryAnarchy. A swirl of topics: emotions, allusions to history, social issues... And somewhere in the maelstrom comes forth rhymes and prose. Note: If you can't be bothered to read all the poems (quite understandably), I've starred the better ones.