A poem:

Basement Room

I think it's raining
from my basement room.
But basements make faraway ears,
and rain dries up so quickly.
I still think it was rain.

I think a wind is blowing up above,
but wind is such a meaningless thing,
Invisible,
and always gone.
I still think it was wind.

I think I'm up there in the wind and rain,
but dreaming is always done in bes,
and so many winds and rains are dreams.
I still think it was me.

by Marlo/lil_squeaky

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