Drip... Drip... Drip..

So here's a poem, it might not make a bunch of sense, but when I was writing this, I was using symbolism to connect some of these subjects to ideas.

Chapter 1


Drip drip drip
That’s the sound of the rain
Drip drip drip
Which reminds me of a time before I didn’t know pain
Drip drip drip.

It was a time when there was only sunshine and rainbows
When I looked at the world around me
For you see I was only 9 years old then
And therefore I was both young and naïve.

I thought everything was exquisite
Including the weeds that my mother said were invasive
Because to me they were beautiful blossoms
That gave a yellow color to mine and my brother’s faces.

These flowers or weeds I guess
Gave my brother and I much joy in our lives
Since we’d wish on the old white ones-
But- that was before we knew about all the knives.

Drip drip drip
That’s now the sound of the truth
Drip drip drip
It’s blood that pours from people’s veins (which I didn’t know about in my youth)
Drip drip drip.

I can’t see the sunshine and the rainbows
At least anymore like I used to
For the beauty seems to have vanished
And maybe it has been gone for some time without ever saying adieu.

However, once in a blue moon
I’ll find a beautiful buttery blossom
And when I do all this hope seems to flash before my eyes
Reminding me about how the world is breathtaking and awesome.

Drip drip drip
That sound might deal with blood and pain
Drip drip drip
But it’s also the sound of an innocent rain
Drip drip drip.


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