Beyond Babylon

A Global Magazine for Thinking Youth

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.

1 Comment

  1. umurerwa nice

    May 27, 2017 at 7:28 pm

    sure??when can’t u feel its weight on the shoulders when we die?!

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