Washed Out

The rain just stopped, a sudden squall.

On concrete, colors bled and ran.

A fading drawing, bright and small,

a kingdom built by childish plan.

A blue stick lay, forgotten, plain.

I picked it up, the powdery touch.

A universe washed down the drain,

meant nothing, but it meant so much.

The sky was clearing, sharp and wide.

That temporary, vibrant hue.

Like promises we kept inside,

then watched them vanish, out of view.

Just wet streaks now, where castles stood.