And the Rain Washes it Away

A drop of Blood on a Broken vase,
The flowers have withered away-
The leaves are all dead and sore,
But yes, the Thorns remain.
Pain oozes out of the stems,
But the Rain washes it away.


No, not the blood.
Diluted but not displaced-
Beauty. Sorrow. And truth.
The storm has magnified destruction;
Torn the plant apart, ravaged the leaves,
Burnt the petals, left the Thorns to rot.
Yet, the Rain washes it away.


Genres of generation,
Decades of existence;
One last moment of the Sun on the Dew:
The Earth breathes heavy vapours,
A life is silently crushed to nothingness. . .
And the rain washes it away.