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Anna Nov 12
I'm raining
The sky is crying,
Part of the season.
A cup of coffee would be welcomed, I'm really not a big fan of rainy days
Marga Oct 20
we'll get through these together
we'll make it through the bad weather;

we know everyday is a new day,
as long as we're here and we'll still stay.

some days are really rainy,
but with you, i feel less lonely;

one day, hand in hand we'll see the sunshine,
and as one sooner we'll feel just fine.
ce-walalang Oct 10
loneliness creeps in the most inopportune time --
and we'd do anything to hide or run away from it

some would take sobriety for granted
some would keep "busy"
some would stay social -- always chasing what’s happy
but as we try, we lose our why

many things no longer mean anything
like poetry, sad songs and rainy days
unrequited love and other form of heartbreaks
and after a while, everything feels nothing

what if…
when we feel lonely -- feel lonely
when we feel disconnected -- fully disconnect
it’s probably not easy

consider our loneliest the time to
find meaning,
make sense of even the small things,
and on what really matters, continue reflecting
alternate title: the lonely prose masked as poetry
Stormy town
grayly gowned
brooding cloud,
puddled ground

Pouring loud
soothing sound
gentle rain
oozing down
Nylee Sep 1
You were fresh out of September
Dewdrops touching my face

a bright day
A sunny smile
the star lighting me up

A patch of pink and blue

but with rainy nights
and windy breezy evenings

The sweaters of November
will suit you too
Norman Crane Aug 18
morning hawk shrieks
awakening the goldensphere
arise heatmaker
evaporator of dewmist and frost
evoker of see rays
energizer of the scuttleprey
but beak waves impact the falling spray
in rainy day are lost
this day goldensphere will stay
adoze on her horizon home
meadow hush
cloud down begrace her sparkleface
comfortably monochrome
Jonathan Moya Jul 28
The rain chuckles on the rooftop
and the sound carry’s down the house.

The oaks in their amber raincoats
hiss in the water’s tickle.

Their sinuses suckle the drops to veins
then shiver off the excess.

The wild summer streams are
beginning their running joke.

The drought retreats with a frown
to the applause of the scorch grass.

The old man and his grandson watch
the slapstick of nature from the doorway.

They wave to their bemused neighbors
in their rockers watching the show.

The old man hands the child an umbrella
and watches him join the laughter all around.

The child delights in the rain drumming
smiles on the harlequin cloth.
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