Place: "River"side, The Boat Club, C.O.E.P
Theme: Pauus (Rain)
Work: Write non-crappy stuff (supposed to be written 2 days ago)
Author: A confused girl with a cartload of submissions
The Consequence: Two raggedy pages (with the circuit diagram of a band-reject filter on the back of one of them) in HB pencil, as underneath.
The light shone on in parity,
The drums went on a spree,
The drop atop, 'Where should I drop?
Where would I like to be?'
One trickled in a farmland crack,
Burrowed and hollered through,
Worms, lost seeds, decaying stuff,
No earth to seep into.
One rushed into, the river blue
its icy depths aquiver,
At threshold poised, the air rejoiced,
When life bevied the giver.
One drop, unfortunate, it dropped
on a poor arithmetic journal,
The '8' went '3', the drop broke free,
Messed up a cursed internal.
One landed dang! on top of skin,
It was a little hand,
Bereft, it mused, 'This is my end',
In seconds, I'll bite the sand!
The hurl it knew would come in time
somehow did never come,
What came instead, were fellow drops,
Unknowns and long-lost chums.
They hugged and tugged in wonderment
as the hand cupped 'em together,
And gently laid them on a leaf
Withered to vein and tether.
The vein bloomed to a pulsing lane,
The whites gave way to greens,
Two eyes watched on, the (re)union
Of parched smithereens.
Behold the fall! No time at all!
From pain and dying gory,
Stood life with dancing droplet crowns,
In all its shining glory!
For though it seems (or does not seem)
awful poetry (or prose),
Rain does do magic, spell-binding!
When a bud becomes a rose.
Why do I remember someone saying writing is a work of leisure? :|