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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Experience · #1006945
On regret.
It rained on Independence Day,
So the fireworks were postponed.
Instead, there were mortars
and rockets—
The kind with fuses for war
that don’t fizzle out
From a few raindrops.
The air smelled like sulfur
and aftermath—
Like blood
And life
That trickle down ruddy cheeks
When the festivities are over.
© Copyright 2005 Dezdemona Grey (writeunclothed at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1006945