Writer1326

In the evening, on a rainy day,
The willow trees weep.
Underneath the willows, dryads stay. 
They are peaceful as they sleep.

Wind pushes the willows as rain-
gently hits the ground, naiads sing.

The world is a rose,
it is quite beautiful,
but its thorns hurt.
The wind sings songs of gold,
that never seem to mold,
but behind each pretty lyric,
is a warning you should listen to.

Sunsets or storms?
It's a question
that haunts my mind. 
Sunsets or storms?
You might as well be asking,
the moon or the stars?
I love both too much
to choose just one.
Yet you continue to ask.

"You have a voice, use it," they say.
So I do, but my words get lost in
the sea of voices that surround me.
I repeat myself, louder this time, 
trying to swim to the surface
of this sea of voices.

Friendships come and go,
I've learned that over the years
I've lived on this planet.
To me, this is an undeniable fact.
But there's always that one friendship
I thought would last longer than the rest.