Photo by Geetanjal Khanna on Unsplash
My tears fell so loud and hard
and I fell to the ground. Because,
because I could not write.
When my words disappear,
so does my hope.
Today I felt I could write,
and so,
my hope slowly renewed.
Underneath the summer rain.
Strands of freshly-washed hair
dripping onto my shoulders.
Bare chest soaked and shining.
I could listen to music again.
Up lifted the greyscale hue that
my despair had casted over my view.
The green of the trees were muted. But,
but they were green.
This hope will not last too long,
of this I am sure. But,
this hope will return to me
holding an unfamiliar form.
Late June
or early snow.
My hope will come
as it will go.
This I have learnt.
This I have lived. Oh,
oh this I know.
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