To please and appease,
the coming storms breeze,
we shackle ourselves to the ground,
and prepare for the pound.
We do not stand before the storm,
or leave to fight this outrageous norm,
instead we sit and take the hit,
and watch as our throats are slit.
What is the point of life without glory,
or the opportunity to create our story,
we are subdued by the never-ending rain,
and with it comes immense pain.
But if we were to just grab an umbrella,
and continue writing our story,
yes our pages may get wet,
but what is life, without breaking a sweat?