Wednesday, October 27, 2004

Comfort

Rain drips from the eves like tears.
The sun is setting, hiding its face from sorrow.
Why do the drops sparkle in the fading light?
Don't they know the pain here?
They twinkle white.
Rain tears.
Why do they have to be so beautiful now?




I don't write poetry. Exsept when I do. I don't think I could if I tried, and the stuff scares me, so I don't. Exsept. This time I was sleepy, sitting in the dark, listening to sad celtic music, and chatting online with a sad person. So like, yeah.
:-)

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Hmm... Yeah, anyone can post, but they don't have name fields...

-David

Anonymous said...

Not bad. Do you often sit in the dark and listen to sad celtic music?

-JC

Tracy said...

Nice poem. :)