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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Emotional · #1688002
This is how I suppose being in sorrow means.
And it rained,
Heavy and loud,
drenching, soaking,
for ages in time,
cultivating the ruin.

And then it stopped,
as if suddenly there
was drought.
soil dried, burnt leaves,
and dead trees.

Nothing has born,
out of the once
fertile land for aeons.

Such it has been,
now for long,
my cheeks like
cracked aluvium all along.
My eyes rendered
dull and void.
My heart has been,
a barren, unfertile zone.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1688002-Sorrow