quinta-feira, 22 de maio de 2014

First version, new one...

Rainy morning.

The rain is beautiful
this morning.  It washes
the walls of the city, the
splattered park benches and
rusted cars, like the
hand of mother nature
still managing, still tending
to a ravaged planet.  On a
rainy morning, everyone
seeks shelter:  shoppers
under the awnings
alongside homeless junkies
and poets, and the mutts
who not for a moment
stop scrounging for crumbs.
There is hope on a rainy
morning .  You walk out
into rivers of loss, and
but for the smudges of eye
pencil, no one would even
notice your tears.

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