www.whyville.net May 1, 2011 Weekly Issue



LowOnSoap
Whyville Poet

Tempest

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CREATIVE WRITING
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PANDEMIC
Dark clouds linger on the skyline as their hopes begin to rise
I anticipate the downpour, I can see it in his eyes

They're thankful for a taste and the break from dusty brown
My body is set for a little more than puddles on the ground

Jubilant talk begins to fly of a prosperous crop at last
He doesn't have to say a word to remind me of years past

The earth begins to swell underneath a relentless pour
My comfort, my religion, I could never stop wanting more

Four days since the sunshine and now they regret the desire
But we rise with the waters as the tempest takes us higher

Senselessness is the killer, curiosity only the bait
They will drown in their own spiteful river, he will hold my hand at the gate.

 

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