There are days
when the fat
rain beats the
tent like a snare
drum.
Sleep is impossible,
a distant
memory from youth.
Beautiful flowers die,
and green isn't quite
green enough.
It turns to olive brown,
then black.
People don't behave
and we can't make them.
I hope there is
rest when it's all
said and done.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 10th, 2025 13:25
- Comment from author about the poem: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBAZoRBDD9k Here is a link to my you tube channel where I read this poem and others from my recently published books, Sleep Always Calls, It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse and Sleep Always Calls. They are all available on Amazon. #www.thomaswcase.com
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 99
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence, Tristan Robert Lange, RSM0812, Cheeky Missy
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Comments7
Enjoyed the read and the poems on the video, wonderful stuff
Thank you. Much appreciated.
You are very welcome
Again gritty and of life in nature that is without regard to our needs. A well written piece Thomas
Thank you, my friend.
Enjoyed. Good one .
Thanks. Much appreciated.
Excellent, Thomas! This one aches in quiet, steady beats—like the rain you describe. I felt the weight of it, the resignation, the fragile hope in that final line. You’ve captured something raw and real here. Wonderful write! 🌹👏
Thank you so much. I appreciate it.
You are most welcome!
Nice read. I like the way you put in the imagery twice in one line. Made my mind picture every emotion your pen wrote.
Thanks. Much appreciated.
Beautifully rendered with excellent imagery bordering on exquisite, with a gorgeously haunting poignancy. Thank you for sharing. Growing older was never pretty but you've a way of expressing it which seems half comforting, somehow.
Thank you so much.
yes, so d I, and I hope you find what you are striving for
Thanks
you are most welcome
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