The Revolution

I was bored. Watching the rain outside, I decided to write a poem - it's been such a long while since I last wrote one.

The Revolution

quietly he started
a drop.
drip.
an incongruous tear
that fell into an ignorant vacuum.
noone noticed.
the warning fell
like an invalid that plopped unto the belly
of a panicking mob of ants.

he winked knowingly
and thus,
a flash.
the gurgling of the dimming clouds.
the allies assemble.

quietly he tried
once again.
drip.
a steady stream
of transparent milk fell from his breast.
the brewing of a storm
The skies turn gradually
into dark coffee marbled
with cream, humming the soft
grumble of a hungry tummy.

everyone was waiting.

it has began
he nods,
and then it poured.
a multitude of cold wet arrows
dancing violently with the bragadocio wind
blinded with a passion
pounding angrily as they hit the pavement
joining his brothers in a growing revolution.

in masses,
they piled onto each other
under the reign of their supreme master
their protest shall be felt.
and it is a dark dynasty, indeed
their pride, a parody against the world.

such dastard bufoons.

their mother's bosom
cannot sustain forever
and dust will one day squeeze out of her nipples
barren.
the arrows shall falter,
aimless, without cause

cease.
he says.
and the rain will
die as history has often so foretold.
the revolution halted.
anticipating
for the next call to arms.