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An age old question,
Not one of little note.
When one side risks repression,
We see nothing or hear what's wrote.

A picture's worth a thousand words,
But does it really take that many?
I could tell of singing birds,
For the cost of one whole penny.

They sung and laughed and fluttered hard,
As far as little wings could carry,
And surely soon they let down guard,
Their feelings could not tarry.

But as certain as that stanza spun,
A picture in our heads,
Nothing's like when paint does run,
And those brush strokes sew like threads.

So pen or brush or sculptor's tool,
Strike swiftly while the iron's hot.
There's only one way to show a fool,
For them to say some kind of art, is not.
So many questions, left at the altar of the answer.

Does the hate fill you completely, or does it leave room for more things to be consumed?

When you think about the pain in your heart, is the relief in the reality that it brings?

Why abandon something good so hurriedly, with plenty of memories left to be made and thrown to the fire?

Where does your free time lead you, under the assumption that you feel like doing anything at all?

So many questions, left at the altar of the answer.

One last question, left at the altar of the answer.

Why?
When the sky laughs its' booming chuckle, I wonder.
I wonder whether you dance in the rain
or sleep soundly thanks to the constant pattering.

Do you look forward to the sunshine breaking through
or do you welcome the sadness and grief it brings?

Do you wish the rain would never stop,
so it can wash away all that has ever hurt you?
Or do you pray that it never rains,
so you are never reminded of the pain?

Is the downpour a megaphone,
shouting to the world how you feel inside?
Or do you use it as something to dull the hurt,
a strong tonic to nullify all things evil?

I want you to love the rain,
Love the rain the way I do,
And stand in it to drown out
that stain of weariness.

Stick out your tongue sometime
When you get the chance.
Catch a raindrop
and embrace the freedom that it brings.

Do this so when we meet,
We can dance together, soaking.
the clouds will laugh, I’ll move
the beautiful sopping hair from your eyes.

I want to share our first kiss,
in the middle of a hurricane.
And hold you tight,
So there is nothing but us and the rain.
Wrote this to a future love, during a physics lecture, while listening to the rain pour down outside.

— The End —