Young Writers Society

Riding the train home, all the shops starting to shut down
You unfold yet another newspaper which proclaims disaster.
Catastrophe creeping ever closer, like a monster in the night,
Your head is pressed against the cold glass, heart so tense
It almost ceases to beat, and your mind starts to wonder
When it will arrive, the peril everyone is prophesying -
Walking through the crowds, body constantly jostled
You feel like just another hill in an endless sea of mountains.
It’s so difficult to know your own form when voices swirl
Like clouds, obscuring the shape of your innermost forest
Are you even alive anymore? Or is your body just an illusion
Your ghost a gift, protected by a heart that doesn't want to give up -

And the rain falls.

The rain falls in little droplets, each one full of hope.
The dirt, grime, and dust that covers the whole world
Falls away when touched by the gentle hand of rain.
The windows are blurry, the horizon is obscured
And in this state of blindness, it is only then
That the true beauty of the world emerges.

Regrets, like the barren limbs of a winter oak, emerge from your mind
And the soft raindrops meet every one, sinking into the hollow spaces.
As if you were a child again, you rest in this cold yet compassionate embrace,
These slippery kisses so like the touch of lover lost to time and memory.
Under its influence, your eyes turn skyward, and your heart unfurls.
On the trees, cherry blossoms begin to peak out; reds, whites, and pinks;
Spring is stirring in your chest, stepping out of the lifeless void
Where it had been locked for so long. Your heart beats, finally recognizing
The body in which it is living, and your blood starts to melt, flowing
As the rain falls, and falls, and falls, forever and forever and forever.