Tuesday, May 5, 2009

A Rain for the Making

Silenced in sequence
of ponderance spare
the gutters are full again,
dripping with mournful refrain.

The windows pastiched
in yellowing lace, hide the panes
of despair. Even the birds are silent.

The dark night of the soul
has its place in palliative beckoning,
but the afternoon rain in soggy gray
makes no sense in the killing.

Might as well start a party of one
and laugh at the flickering ash.
Touche the karma rolls in thunder
even the lightening lost it's way.

Where are my gods of beauty and wonder,
hiding in drainspouts of seasonal waste?
Rain hard if you must, there's gloom to share;
tomorrow's rust beckons the gold
in the seeking of sunny day trappings.

2 comments:

  1. Might as well start a party of one
    and laugh at the flickering ash.
    Touche the karma rolls in thunder
    even the lightening lost it's way.

    I am wandering lost like the lightning

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  2. Not for long dude... you have talent and the "lady" fans will be forthcoming, I'm a witch and I know things ;>)

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