Water cascades down the umbrellas in clear droplets.
A silence accompanies the soft pattering, their melodies ringing together in harmony.
A mist weaves snakelike in between the crowd.
The sky is covered in gray and white paint splatters.
You can hear a muffled sob from the back, but you cannot tell who it comes from.
The smell of a fresh morning dew wafts from the ground upward, becoming mixed in with heavy perfumes and colognes.
People are clustered together like small animals, as if they are afraid of the elephant who has yet to enter the room.
But the elephant enters in a casket.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Shii
PoesíaIt's 3 AM and I'm being stupid by writing something thought-provoking but it really isn't.
