A Poem by labyrinthapathy

The palms, whipped

From the harsh, invisible caress

Found themselves wrought

Of sensible form, figure, anatomy

Or, at least, to the eye.

When the grip let halt, a rabid creaking ensued and green had returned to its throne 'fore blue. Streets were swept clean by hurried waters. Over ceiling saw once again the cerulean kingdom to which it had always belonged, despite the black of the day below. The rain has begun.

© 2013 labyrinthapathy

Author's Note

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I love the rain, somewhere it comfort me when it rains, I love the rhythm of every raindrop that falls on the window...good job!

Posted 7 Years Ago

Interesting metaphors for such a cliché subject matter.

Because of you

the rain will never look the same.


Posted 7 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

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2 Reviews
Added on December 8, 2013
Last Updated on December 8, 2013
Tags: poetry, poem, description, downfall, grim, curiosity, acceptance