Days Past (3/4 written in High School, last bit current)

The darkness outside,
Silent breath of rain,
Grey stillness leaking from the sky.
I knew by the light it would be one of those days,
when a man can no longer walk over a bridge
without fear that it will collapse beneath his feet.
water is pouring upon the windows,
creating sheets of silent storm.
Raining straight from sunrise to sunset,
A comforting dreariness.
Somber gloom, spiders crawling up my spine,
The world is monopolized by its presence;
Trading the shell of a sun unappreciated,
For a torrential downpour of ice.
Hail, brick, stone, cold, force,
An interpretation of undying diligence and strength
When light becomes concealed
And darkness undying.
Some evade cold, hiding in warm furnace homes,
Others welcome it.
Thoughts drip from my brain
Drips producing those moments which surround me.
Walking blindly, aimless-
Trudge though gray on gray,
puddled concrete.
This day looks exactly like those which
Resonate in my head as feelings, memories
And unfading dreams.
The glass is frosted with tears,
An outlook of sky blended with road,
responding to the weather.
rain concrete;
steam engine road.
The minutes fade into one another,
stars leaking from their pretty constellations
It is not the world that matters anymore,
It is these eternal clouds that shadow
A ruined creation.
Cleansing the grounds,
Soul, dirt, blood, mud.
The gray rinses us clean until all that we see
Is a dream of life.
But dreams fade
stained upon waking.
the shell of futile habitation
struck by a suicidal cigarette.
more than three syllables
left to linger on the tongue-
a most displeasing aftertaste.
a silver lining of remembrance,
already remembered and soon-to-be forgotten.
as long as the moon rises
in the ceaseless midnight skies,
as long as you return
to full, enduring eyes,
none will be forgotten.
And rose petals fold
scorching edges of tin foil and
maddened flame.
Erupting in the core;
Fire catches fire and
This thick white smoke
Fills us…

It is a happy winter and I wonder why the sunset burns my eyes with tears.

She

The road was like an arrow. It split and feathered off at the base of a forgotten pond. Crickets drank a silent meal of silver scum and oil; the surface punctured by specks of floating dust. Murmers floated through aching trees, sullen from years of neglect.
She knotted her damp hair in her fingers, felt sleeves too long to cover ancient scars.

Nothing but dust can fill this hunger.
She’s better, if her sanity doesn’t get to her first.

She heard a tingle of smoke rings as they grazed a pale morning of bird song surrendered. Judgment inside, without, within- retired retorts reigning recklessly; recurring riddles and rambles resigned to rain relentlessly.