Sipping From The Drain
Some escape across paper bridges
through a gray-blue rain.
Weighted down by hasty decisions.
Chasing that mist called sanity's refrain.
Others remain-chipping plaque from souls
Rooting gemstones from the smolder
Sowing hard clay into gardens of stone.
Either way you play it
It's always going to rain.
May as well splash about
Sometimes living requires a reddish slap
and a sip from a clogged drain.
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