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Nov 2011
Sitting, waiting,
Watching the clouds on the brink.
Spilling, dripping onto summer’s green face.
Blemishes, cracks
Weakness shown as they are slowly met by the ground.
Running, leaving
Away from the safe, fluff home.
Scared, chased
By the thunderous roars.
Runaways.
Dodging the light, cutting through the thick hot air
Refugees.
Unwanted, tired
Falling into the unknown,
Down.
Gathered in pools, ****** into glass
Some stand alone
Dripping and sad.
Pitter-patter, no one cares, no one listens
Their cries soothe us back to sleep.
How can we be soothed by billions being force from their homes?
Eloping
Escaping
Carried.
Stolen by the wind and sun
Pounded by the ground,
Homeless, hopeless, lost.
No longer welcome, safe.
Cast from their utopian cloud bliss,
just disregarded ***** tears.
"I love the rain the most, when it stops"
The Year
Written by
The Year
982
 
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