Disquieting,
sobbing, displeasing
the rain is outside in the park,
in the dark.
And distantly,
in the farthest of corners,
the weeping, light voice of piano
is calling for me to come back.
Each time lightning
would puncture the low sky,
the house’s shades are back,
thunder comes, detonates.
Reliving the past,
I find no future,
rain turns into sleet
after all.
No comments:
Post a Comment