By Andrew R. Duckworth
Sleep deprived in a dead gray,
Time sprints and fades away,
Opening and shutting shutters,
Remembering harsh words uttered,
Making harsh judgements on self.
Waning joy and in comes the rain.
Alert the alarms! Avert the pain!
Raining down those pelts that stain,
Narrowing the doorway of escape.
In comes the clouds, gray skies abound.
Never listening to rational sound,
Giving a soft cry and hoping I’m found.
One thought on “Storming”
Hey, I really like your painting. It looks to me like a fire in the sky. In your poem, you say, “Never listening to rational sound.” You mean listening to rational other people or friends, or maybe to your own thoughts? BTW, I went with a gal who was married to a Duckworth and the intermarried line went back to Virginia,. I think, through Indiana.