The dust filled streets settle down with the rain,
The water penetrates our weakened limbs
And the once joyous flag begins to stain.
We use the rain to wash away our sins,
As his hands rummage through discarded gems,
Their shine still prominent despite their wear.
The world that threw him away he condemns.
He asks himself if pride is worth despair,
Colors lose meaning, me along with them.
Change the love into existential dread
Uncertainty, pants soiled at the hem.
Caress my face and hair, lay me for dead
The doubting of it all: the glee, once vibrant,
It's loudest when masses grow silent.
About the Creator
Luanda Fuenzalida
Hello there! I mostly write poetry, which somehow always has a sort of sad or dark tone. I am from Colombia, but moved to New York recently and this city never stops amazing me.
Thank you for checking it out, it's so nice to find you here :)
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