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s a m Aug 8
Remember when you told me to stop? 
That night I cursed the stars to drop 
which made my life burned out and flop 
having myself to feel the pain nonstop. 
But time went by, I learned to adapt 
the feeling of sadness to make a start 
of growing again after years of drought. 
Thankfully, there's rain helping me to sprout.
You can take a break to compose yourself from everything that had happened. But don't ever stop because you might get yourself a life without living. So be sure to get back up.

POEMS OF THE RAIN, Copyright © 2020
Sam N. de la Rosa
All Rights Reserved.
In the haze of it's flames
a man laid under Canopies
of  burning light of a siren
cutting through the smoke
as if it was paper.
Their voice, flooded with drought
loss of input
they weren't able to speak
nor breathe
it was suffocating
the texture of the brittle
firm cement, under their cheek
Thus all they had left
was a broken requiem
of a better day.
I feel free when
I fill paper with my thoughts.
Try to make sense by joining dots.
In my mind going on alot.
Trying to write all but keeping it short.
Writing is like water in drought.
After spilling which, i feel unbound.
Writing, the only way a my soul feels free.
Lyka Mosca Apr 27
Burn the leaves
Until nothing is left
Green is not
A color anymore
Just a mere symbol
For hope on Earth

Many are naive
Many are deaf
How long
Can one be blind
That when Earth dies,
We do too.
while people are on lockdown, earth became free
Redeem Irabor Apr 10
The blue sky turns red.
Heaven's roof no longer leaks.
Now the Earth shall thirst.
National poetry month: Drought
A rumble calls
A false cry for rain
Wither the plants
In a dry spring’s pain
i yearn
to grow ‎
within my soul
but the
soil in it
is currently
Bad Luck Feb 2013
The rain keeps falling
As dry as a drought.

                       “ Rain drops heavier than water,
                           When it’s laden with doubt.

He said,
                       “ The ground simply can’t hold it
                                     … So it must go without.

               ” You’ve never known water to stain,
                  But you’ve never felt this kind of rain.
                  It’s thicker than your skin.
                  It stains your clothes and what’s within.
                  It sounds like hammers as it pounds -
                 And yet, the ground won’t let it in.

          So it flows like a river that only gets bigger;
                     It like a force that knows no remorse.
                     Despite endless efforts to stop it -
                     It still runs like a faucet…
                                        With nowhere to drain. "

But if the ground holds no plants, is the water so vital?
Is the rain’s sole purpose this lifeless recital?
The ground stays so strong.
It holds fast, like pure stone
But can one stay so long when one’s so alone?
When one is forced to move,
               Will the ground or the rain?
And when the first one has gone,
               Will the other remain?

For now, they coexist,
Each facing a challenge it can’t resist -
Both unstoppable and immovable,
                              They hopelessly persist.
As complements, they combine
                        With the product of a flood.
But the water that’s collecting
                        Has the consistency of blood.

There’s a heart behind this water.
It pulses, instead of flowing.
So you turn to the only man you know,
             for parting words with danger growing.
And he says, as you leave:

               “ I wish you luck where you are going.
                   My son, you’ve only seen the rain . . .
                    . . . The winds are not yet blowing
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

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