Pulp

Thursday, November 16, 2017

One I Feel May Already Be Posted

My tears flow like rain.
Sobs to match the sound
of a tin roof.
A tsunami of salt-mixed water.
You came.
A hurricane of destruction passing through.
Then, you were gone.
A whisper on the wind.
Gone, gone again.
And my rain will fall.
Until new spring comes.
I am reborn.
Posted by Pulp at 11:49 PM
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