Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
She dances in the rain
She dances in the sun
She dances away her pain
She never tries to run.

She has a heart of gold
Her soul spirit oh so bold
but even with that golden heart
sometimes, she breaks apart.

It is not easy to keep going,
Specially when the world says, give up, you don't know what you are doing.

People say things
People act cold
But still it's the warmth she brings
because she has a heart of gold.

She's brave, she's a fighter
and just to feel a little lighter
She dances.
She dances in the rain
She dances in the sun
waiting for that rainbow above.

Her wait wasn't long thereof,
The gold always shines
It can't be hidden for long.
The universe finally played her song
And she danced,
with all that she had;
And as if the gods rained petals over the entire town,
All of the stars aligned,
to be her crown.
Copyright Simran Guwalani
I need the rain.

dessicated limbs hang
low and heavy
like twin pendulums
of shattered lead.

I need the storm

drained roots coil
notted and gnarled
like a cage
of sun bleached bone.

I need the flood.

suffocated leaves wither
rusted and dying
like an endlessness
of time-ground sand.

I need the void.
walking down the wet pavement,
rain clouds creating more than puddles,

can’t withstand such abasement,
she wishes absence of those troubles

feeling enslavement in her own mind,
the world doesn’t understand her struggles

it’s been a rainy day today
Bekah Halle Apr 3
there are those days
when things just flow.
You can either,
run indoors,
or get out your gumboots,
and jump in the puddles.

the days are dry.
your lips are parched,
and creativity eludes you.
You can despair,
turn up the volume of self-loathing,
or embrace the feels,
for some other experience.

there are days when you're juggling,
the myriad of experiences,
and it clicks...
they're all moments,
to be savoured.
No! It's not thunder I hear,
It's the roar of sirens cutting the propeller noise.
No! It's not aqua I feel,
It's the rain of metal and fire.
It's not Petrichor I smell,
The only smell is here of smoke and death.
No, the ground won't get washed away,
It will be painted in red and black.
Hyades have fled today, The universe is for Hades to take.
And the rain fell
grey through holes in a badly darned sky
which looked like it had seen better days
a coffee shop whine of grinding beans
mixed with the sound of irish voices
made a better day than the one forecast
and brought a little sunshine to my winter cup
although there are only
blue skies overhead
i can still feel
a prickling approach
of distant rain clouds
in the air
Mind worries as sun blazes
dwindling up water sources
held so close like precious treasure,
As earth spins, yearning for change!!

Soil waits in anticipation
Longing for monsoon’s gentle touch
and to hear stories from heavenly sky
gathered by collective clouds!!

Leaves stretch out their eager hands,
While roof tops become willing recipients
To embrace the raindrops
As convoy from the sky above!!

Mind dances as if on cloud nine
As celebration of renewal
Of dried-up life and leaves...
Waiting for the splash of rain
across every breeze in its way...
Of lone long walks with no barriers
between soul and heaven!!
The pool of rain shadowed the sun, dancing with a tepid demeanor. City lights' glamour reduced the light of the sun—melancholy was evident on her face, accompanied by the distinguished incorporeal's breath of air. The late-afternoon tea and dried-out smoke of snowy November. 

It turned into night; the sun was still blatantly drowning in the pool of light, where a small trickle of its shadows tantalized the mockery arrayed in her face. Followed by the sickness in her stomach, pinching herself as she naively believed he loved her for all she is. 

After all, he was the one who called her a goddess and even paralleled her in the universe in which Aphrodite takes part. Surprisingly and naively, still believed conspicuous lies. It scarred her. A mountain that cannot be climbed; a river where blood flows continuously; a garden full of thorns. The face of a fool. 

The glamour wore off when he saw her on stage, where all of his queens and muses were. He wasn't even paying attention to her, and yet she was the only one who performed on stage—she rose and fell; she sang and moved like a goddess, surprising and naively believing he could take back her youth. 

He watched her rise. 
He watched her fall. 
He watched her lose her life. 

She hopelessly believed, with her skin and bones, that he'd choose her this time. He didn't.
if my life were a song, it would be goddess by laufey.
Lorelei Mar 7
The rain pipes whisper
The spring’s secret in the wind
Let me catch it in my wings
And flutter it in the world
So everybody learns how to blossom.
Next page