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And the Story Goes

There are days

when the fat

rain beats the

tent like a snare

drum.

Sleep is impossible,

a distant

memory from youth.

Beautiful flowers die,

and green is quite

green enough.

It turns to olive brown,

then black.

People don't behave

and we can't make them.

I hope there is

rest when it's all

said and done.

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Written by

Twc

59 / M / Utopia

Published: Jul 10, 2025
LinesWords: 1857

Notes: check out my you tube channel where I read my poetry https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kxOye9wk3Xg

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