Rain, by Vicky Taft

Watching you, standing there underneath the tree—

you, staring at the fallen leaves on the ground

trying to look above and you cannot see

the thick and obvious grey of the clouds.

All of the leaves—reds…yellows—bright color;

complete ignorance of what lies above.

Such a deep darkness they can see no other

reason to continue, reason to prove

anything to anyone any longer.

It isn’t always so bright, clear—the sky.

It seems impossible to shine stronger…

So, finally, the clouds begin to cry.

They feel like the water will never stop falling.

Will someone stop to notice—hear them calling?

-Vicky Taft

Featured in Vol. 1 Iss. 3
Featured in Vol. 1 Iss. 3
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