Slug

It's raining. Somehow, I'm relieved.
The sky of plodding, leaden clouds,
The puddles on the patio, the dead
Leaves blown onto the windows all
Pronounce the day a loss, a reason
To sit still inside. The sunny days
Demand so much, a brightness
I find hard to summon, lists of
Tasks that I should do. My nature
Is to shun such things. I came
Here for what doesn't suit me.
I was made to face the rain, to face
The facts? Oh, that's a stretch,
But I've begun to wonder if I
Ought to go back home.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 65 times
Written on 2016-05-10 at 00:15

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