Beyond Babylon

A Global Magazine for Thinking Youth

Month: May 2017

The sorrowful Rain

It pours down.
It falls.
It drenches me in sorrow,
sorrow of how wrong it went.
How wrong I felt.
I made my decision.
I made it wrong.
The rain scolds me.
Tells me.
Tells me things I don’t want to hear.
Oh the wet, I don’t want to feel.
Oh the noise, the pit-pat on my shoes.
The drip-drop on my shoulders.
It builds up
And up
And up
It builds up until I can feel
the weight
on my shoulders.
Sinking me
Drowning me
Pouring me
I gasp, short breaths,
until I feel the air wash away
The sorrow returns
The wet drenching me,
Pouring me,
Sending chills down my spine.
I open my mouth toward the sky,
Towards the blistering heavens
I do not taste the pit-pat
or drip drop.
I taste the harsh
Reality. read more

Poets Fly

Poets Fly

Poets fly, but we don’t have wings
Poets swim, but we don’t have feet
Instead we have feathers ten of them
That give us lift

Poets dance, but we don’t have legs
Poets cimb, but we don’t have thumbs
But minds that sing read more

Poets Fly

Poets Fly

Poets fly, but we don’t have wings
Poets swim, but we don’t have feet
Instead we have feathers ten of them
That give us lift

Poets dance, but we don’t have legs
Poets cimb, but we don’t have thumbs
But minds that sing read more

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