www.whyville.net Jan 5, 2014 Weekly Issue

Guest Poet


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The droplets of water are singing a trail down the bricks of the houses
Through the alleys of the glassy-eyed broken people with soft hearts, a predisposition for mortification
Weaving a tabooed trail across the sidewalks that when gazed upon reeks of obscurity
And leaving faint lines on the creased skin of all the sinewy fatalities
The mildewed rain peaks across the rusted windowsill that sighs with familiarity
It sloshes against the children's playground and slaps at the pavement with a sudden clarity
It empties itself into the spiked maze of the tree branch hoping the leafs will cling onto to it dearly
It mellows into a pond that breaks apart with sharp staccatos when mushy feet run down the street
And it hurls itself into the bitterly sweet lips of two frost-bitten lovers who will soon meet
It daintily steps into the burning embers of the flame, only to be flushed out in shame
It turns to the shower as a last resort, but whines in dismay when it's slurped down the drain
It embraces the eyelashes until it's shaken in misery and then watches wearily as it's blinked away in positivity
It lumbers down the path of the bruised ego, a shattering of phrases that leaves the person's mouth
And before it has the chance to drop it is scooped up and chastised until it moves no more
The tears and the rain drops wander listlessly for all of eternity
Only to be hastily thrown away or brushed away for fear of a restless divinity
It is never to reach a destination and only doomed to be forgotten
And so it seems dear friends, that raindrops are simply you and me


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