She sits on the air, and talks with the breeze.
She walks with that style, and mocks me as I freeze.
I swear she stopped a rain storm,
And you could swear she just said no.
She's a mountain of power, and an engine of burning coal.
Those eyes sharp as glass, and slicker than some ice.
I swore to her I'd stop, but I kept it going on thrice.
I never knew she felt, I didn't think she could.
But I saw her there, weeping, and tugging, and pulling out her hair.
I knew then I was nothing, nothing to her, but pain,
taking away the joy, of her. My Beloved rain.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 12:51 AM UTC
She sits on the air, and talks with the breeze.
She walks with that style, and mocks me as I freeze.
I swear she stopped a rain storm,
And you could swear she just said no.
She's a mountain of power, and an engine of burning coal.
Those eyes sharp as glass, and slicker than some ice.
I swore to her I'd stop, but I kept it going on thrice.
I never knew she felt, I didn't think she could.
But I saw her there, weeping, and tugging, and pulling out her hair.
I knew then I was nothing, nothing to her, but pain,
taking away the joy, of her. My Beloved rain.
(This is actually something I wrote trying to see through the perspective of a boy)
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