The Rain
The rain has never
fallen so hard as it does now.
The urban precipitation filled
With acid pollution.
The storms of decay
Flood life with filthy water.
I try to get up cheery
every morning
And wash my face.
But the acidic rain could only be
Poison for my infant's skin.
I have just gotten rid of a pimple.
Rubbing alcohol has done the trick.
A sigh of relief, then a sigh of discouragement.
The acidic rain only
Grew back the weed
I thought I had killed.
But it's up to me.
Why the sun no longer shines,
Why the flowers are not in bloom,
Why the birdsong dies…
My fears and doubts have made me
Turn to preservatives and chemicals,
Things thought to be a proper substitute.
However, I only created the acid rain.
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.