Poetry · Writing

jungle book:’

it’s raining;

a week of it or so

nothing stronger then the fire

you left and now everything is gunfire,

rounds in my captivity

less and less full activity;

the rain came and it was already a jungle

beast running wild prowling on uneaten remains-

i needed your sun

and the beast came

howling at night

hunting during the day

lay away pathway waste in a day

mayday – mayday

wish we could find the boat that day in may

and sail back, to an island

leave this jungle-

the rain washed away the map

in branches hiding from monsters

looking at the sky

hoping for a pause

looking at the sky

 

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