The rain is pouring down
Those poor worms are sure to drown
They're looking for a dry spot to be found

They crawl to that one small spot of concrete
They found what they seek
The birds are waiting with sharpened beaks

To the birds it's a rain fueled feast
With death the worms they greet
Like me, the worms are just ment to feed the beast

I remember watching Grandad
Whenever it would rain
He would walk around the house a lot
You could tell he was in pain

See, Grandad fought in World War One
Though he never said a word
He was hearing things inside his head
Things no one ever heard

He hated rain, it made the mud
And that's where it began
Fighting, deep within the trenches
Keeping dry as best you can

Everything was always wet
You fought the ***, and fought the sky
The battle in the trenches seemed
To find ways to keep dry

Fifty yards away, no more
The enemy was waiting
Would today be when we made a move
Both sides always waiting

There were no birds up in the sky
Just clouds and all that rain
That war was stuck in Grandads head
And it was driving him insane

My dad would watch as Grandad walked
To hide from that **** sound
You know that all he thought of then
Was that trench, and muddy ground

You'd wrap yourself in what you could
You'd use  uniforms of the dead
Taken from your cohorts
Soaked in mud, and stained blood red

Boots, soaked through like paper
Feet wrapped up as best you could
The mud was everlasting
It covered everything but good

Dad, said it was painful
To watch Grandad on those days
He would hide so deep within himself
In a deep, dark, mental maze

The sun, it never dried the earth
The water just sat in little pools
With the sunlight bouncing off of it
Leaving drops shining like jewels

The smell, of rotting corpses
Piled high down at the end
Bodies of the fallen
The bodies of your friends

Dad said it was different
When he went off to fight
It wasn't like his father's war
It was just like day and night

I remember when my Grandad passed
It rained the whole day through
I remember as they lowered him
Now, I know what Grandad knew

The mud, the worms, the water
Filled his little six foot trench
And everyone was soaked on through
In my mind, I smelled the stench

I feel sorry for my Grandad
Because in truth, I like the rain
And I feel so sorry for him
That it caused him so much pain

The horror of the battle
And the act of keeping dry
You might defeat the enemy
But, not both...but, you'd try

I remember watching Grandad
And of how he hated rain
But, my Grandad was my hero
And, now I know...he's out of pain

a lone woodpecker
aerating the garden, no!
stealing the workers

A gummy connoisseur,
The worms that I prefer
Are red with human blood.
They're just so ******* good!

O.O

The air smelled sweet of promises
The quill wet and ready
The seat sat empty
The page lay bare
Sweet promises turn decayed expectations
Rotting delusions
Spill through quill
From self-inflicted gaping wounds
The worms seem happy
Dancing in the meat of yesterday's dreams

The deluge came without warning,
too fast for it to seep underground.
So, they broke the soil for a taste of rain
and openly met the flood.
They cinched towards exposed surfaces
only asking for more.
So quickly, it was as if
their bloated bodies were ripped from the soil
and thrown to the sidewalk.
They littered the pathways.
A mass suicide in pink.