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Washed Away
May 14, 2019
I walk down the alley.
Moon, stars, rain falling onto a valley
The cool wind cutting my breath
On the street I decide I want to rest.
Here lays the dirt
that will eventually determine my worth.
In the presence of nature, I cry,
“Will this be the final place I lie?”
On the street, I shuffle my feet,
Nervous for the hour of my defeat.
The moon glistenings on the wet pavement.
The world is the reason for my enslavement.
The orb of the night starts melting to dust,
the sky becoming the shade of rust.
The rain washes me away,
my life beginning to fray.
© Anonymous
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