365 Days of Poetry: Day One-Hundred and Fifty-Seven

rain falls, the
driveway flooded, sand
not porous enough
to take all in.

yesterday, the prelude
was a sort of deluge, tears
unwanted yet unrestrained, they
pierced the veil of indifference.

all is still too raw, protection
the name of the game, hurt
possible with every call, though
the force choke is no longer possible.

forgiveness is, but
to forget is not a part of
my nature, and
rain falls.


About June Faramore

Writer of fantasy, mainstream, and young adult fiction. Poet and sketcher. Mother. I read a lot and love cheese. Guitar playing singer-songwriter. I also enjoy stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk. View all posts by June Faramore

this side, that side

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