I wrote this for a contest. The prompt was the first line of the poem.
|After the rain of words the dreamers mourn.
Mourning the end of words that fed their sleep.
From those words beautiful poems were born.
However the price was becoming too steep.
Life is renewed, opening up again for each writer.
The twisted sleep full of words is no more.
They met, debated, cried, voted and each felt lighter.
The burden of no thoughts not poems created wars.
People didn't understand why nothing but words mattered.
Divorce, lost jobs and isolation deeply wounded them.
Left now to pick up their lives left so tattered.
Filled with anticipation of days to come.