A/N: Just providing proof that I'm not dead yet. This is a sister of sorts to my poem Golden Rain.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Transformers franchise.

Acid Rain

The star-filled sky disappears,

Consumed by the coming storm clouds.

All run towards shelter,

Crushing one another for room.

He watches from the porch,

Intrigued by their odd behavior.

He chirps at his carrier,

But no answer is given.

Drops begin to fall,

Hitting the ground with soft thuds.

He cannot look away,

The sight too new and facinating.

His servo reaches out,

Hoping to catch the little drops.

He is pulled away,

His carrier scolding him.

His mind is elsewhere,

Focusing on the drop in his palm.

It does not make sense,

For all to be scared of these drops.

One day, he swears,

He will dance in the rain and show them all.


A/N: Oh Acid Storm, someday you yourself will create the very rain you admire.

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