They decide to let it rain
Twelve o’clock mid-summer humble May.
The sun circles around our circus
Twelve months all four unbiased seasons,
Yet no sun, nor terrains of rain drops, nor haze
Yet it is rather personal today.
Thousands threads of connections
Captivating aimlessly
‘Why do we scream at each other?’
When benignity is ridden
On waves of misery.
Sundays of what ifs and fizzy hair
It is yet rather my personal despair.
For strangers it seems easier
Conversations flow like Tennessee river
No strings attached they vigour in circle.
Human is critter, sucker chump
For forming bonds, and recycling sentences.
Yet for some occurrences
One’s departure puzzles one’s whole.
People come and go
Nights dawn, days arise.
Yet it is rather personal tonight.
About the Creator
Analyse this!
Wanna know how to improve your writing? There is a simple, quick, tried and tested method. Tried and tested by who? By me, as it happens, and I can guarantee that it will work for you. I know what I am talking about. Not always, of course, but certainly in this case.
By Raymond G. Taylor5 days ago in Writers
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