meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

I Long For Stars

The Best Revenge (For All Your Critic's Critiques)

Your Next New Dying Black Swan



The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

All Too Clearly Now

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Informed Through Pain

Sometimes In Losing I Have Gained A Lot

A Man Of The Clouds

The Birds Are Such Un-numbering Creatures of Distant Hitchcockian Past

Accountants

Shrine

Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

Cuba Libre

Dragons

Max on the max

The Little Bird Said

The Factory of Resentments

When My Blues Are Gone

Expect Yourself

TONIGHT

I WILL RETURN

Silver-Tongued Devil

Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Think On This--IF YOU WOULD

Open Lines

You Got Your Lilly Back

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It Is In The Rain


Sometimes
the rain doesn't sound
like rain at all.
Sometimes
the rain sounds more like
a waterfall,
and its tears speak
of sorrows
your own voice cannot tell.
And the lark sings a song
your heart knows all too well.
One of pain.
One of longing.
One of being tucked in far away within
yourself.
You have no words for it
but you've found it--
its the sound
of the rain.

(I woke up with these simple words in my head.)

legal copyright for this poem March 20 2019/12:57PM
time/date stamped
and also for this writer/poet/author
Melissa A. Howells and also for this
legally copyrighted site title
Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World.






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