Turned to What We Hated

We go way back,

the two of us.

Before we were born,

we flew around

the sky,

wrecking havoc.

I’m sure of it.

We were

no smaller,

or larger,

than stars.

Sent here,

to be taught a lesson.

I wish I could remember,

every detail,

rather than just

simple ideas.

It never rained,

but we made it pour

for others.

A gift,

we called it.

The tables turned 

quickly,

as our specks of being

landed in 

the Northwest.

The rain

isn’t such a punishment

anymore,

but a queue to dance.

We gave water a voice.

Coined the terms,

babbling brook,

roaring river.

We were impatient

with the seasons,

making leaves last forever,

but they curled into

spines,

protecting themselves 

from us.

In return,

we protected ourselves

from them,

and everyone.

Using tall fences

of bulletproof

glass,

to keep the 

emotions out.