#the lashed

The rain reluctantly sprinkles If only in the shade, And on the back of a hand, An outstretched appendage; My own, I think. This taste of, “blue,” With sweat mingled leaves, Caressed knuckles, That’d known no embrace; You converge, to corner, And later, to conquer. I’d remain though, And under my tree, Understanding the water, And how a flower’d grow; Exited, your eyes, And not the clouds, The troubles that Happen upon, Or above, us. I’d promised to pull, To run the rain away, But retract my hand instead. I’m tired – It’s time to sleep, And when I slumber, Perhaps I rain as well; Fear, my only friend, Whilst my truest companion Be forgotten. With my hand held side, As opposed to you who’d wish, I know that I may wake, Shake-off, and by chance Without feeling, digest numb; The easy-out for the idiot, The lesser, and the lashed, ‘Ever’d in fear of what might be.