Monsoon
For H.L.
Behind weathered pegs and rusted chains
an ever stretching horizon of marble lies before me.
To the rhythm of the clouds' sighs
frills of black velvet roll on;
mirrors of the smoky musk that hangs grimly in the sky
only to be consumed by the vast expanse.
The cars speed away behind me;
their headlights like lances penetrating the encompassing darkness;
crashing through the down pour in some determined hurry.
Why don't they just stay here for a while?
As the tears from the sky fall like a barrage of mortar shells,
exploding and sending their cold shrapnel flying,
I just stood there in the open.
The soothing liquid runs down my face, through the tired lines and creases,
and in its headstrong rush
my emotion is lost forever.
The continued assault sinks into my bones,
impregnating them with a deep heaviness; an utter exhaustion.
Sparks of energy playfully jump in the sky,
reflected in my glazing eye without a flinch.
As I stood there at the docks as we did where it all began,
illuminated by a lonely street lamp, I sighed.
I didn't care about the singeing humidity that snapped at my neck.
I didn't care about the torrential rain that pierced and tore at my soul.
I didn't care about the judgemental sneers and whispers that venemously encircled me.
All I could do was stand there in disbelief.
And, with heavy shoulders, think
about you,
about us.
I'll miss you.
