Wednesday, August 1, 2012

The Letters

We are just humans, who try to live,
Trying to tame the wild, selfish world
For our vulnerabilities.
Just what do you mean with what you do?

You are black, you’re heavy, and you’re fast.
You fly above us quicker than dust.

You wet our small streets, and make mud.
You visited me through the window,
And erased the letters I had done.
You are uninvited, don’t you know?

I know, you hate being locked outside.
You’ve taken our roofs, and threw them off.
Now, you pour water to where we hide.
You’re making us care when you’re pissed off.

You’ll pay for this, storm; here is a clue:
Your day will come; the sun will catch you.

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