I Rain

Poetry

Photo by Steve Halama on Unsplash

Nothing is permanent.
But grief never dies.
An inevitable dark hole,
a leach upon your soul —
as you scatter like shattered pieces of ice.
Aching, breaking, broken open —
as the world refuses to pause or take a slower more considered breath.
It spins on.
Chasing the Sun through the rain
as you are drenched in sunsets, moonlight and pain.
You become one with the rain.
A restless deluge falling and falling over and over again…