FLOOD

FLOOD

The sky holds no rainbow,
no sun,
just a span of gray black
death bellows.

Rain isn't splashing the land
with life,
it's flushing it with desolation,
an aqua nest
of lost hope.

The water rises like taxes,
brackets no one,
taking from rich, and many poor.
It doesn't care.

What's worse? The poisonous,
furious, river, or
crashing dreams?
People scavenging tells me,
it's the latent dream.

When it's over the birds will sing.
The people,
submissively bereaved evermore.