Roll of thunder, hear my cry.

hear my screams that beg, plead, hope, wish.

two to ten million drops of me, the tire of the tree, the one that swings.

ones that yell ‘bout wealth, none which grow on trees.

on the shooting star at 11:11, ones you see when you sleep.

I cast a gloom above all i sit, words sing of joy, not rage or filth.

Lies begone, say mothers word

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”

I gallop through the meadow I’ve rode before

body is fluid, beg no more

If wishes fell like rain, then certainly, i am a storm.