My first poem

Rain comes pouring down the flames

To extinguish a desire in my deepest core.

But for the years I've spent in longing sore,

I wish my heart would quit its beat

And invite a new type of drum to speak.

​

Come now, my woe and grow, for woe is slow,

And for speed, to my soul, there is no greater foe.

I rest in my own nest of flowers and thorns

To await my reward for a year's long storm.

Rain is not the one to blame--

​

Beauty is coming again.

​

FB1: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/9iz5b5/advice_on_freezing_to_death/e6omriw/?context=3

FB2: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/9j2dq6/september_in_detroit/e6ollmv/?context=3