This day

This day

This day

 

The rain comes down on panes

Of glass that shudder with wet sounds

A tumbling repetition of reminders

That life is tough

 

The sky. Implacably grey

Emits its silver pellets

With the blank poker-face

Of a giant in the grip of boredom

 

And we, with our intermittent hopes

Shelter from the aural assault

Diffident. Changing the scope of plans

That were set firm before the fall

 

Puddles formed in cavaties

Swell, seeking a spirit level

Rising to the point at which

Our collective hopes will sink

 

And thus another day colludes

With our remaindered views

To put a weight upon

Desire