By Sam Purnell

Cascading across the glass

These high-speed passengers.

As they run, they leave a trail of themselves,

Forging a path that those who come after may follow.

Fleeting elements of the world beyond the windowpane.

They’re nature’s sperm,

Mirroring the most important race as they sprint across the glass.

No, they’re sheep,

They jump across the glass and slowly lull me into another world.

Wait, they’re shooting stars,

Filled with the hope of our far off destination.

But they’re just water drops and you’re so bored that you overload them with poetic meaning.


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