What must go down
Is the rain and its sound.
Tomorrow might not bring
The same shower to the ground.
For the night is folly, and the sky is red,
And I woke up in the noon instead.
One or two are enough;
Mountains, valleys, at the times tough
For I must reveal my darkest self
Yet know it's not a shadow,
But a cry for help.
When the world turns it's back on you
But I never not mercy knew,
The old chair loaded with evening thoughts;
Why do you speak when the mind rots?
Cruel. Oh, life!
At least words ought not to cut like a knife!
©annie1127
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