//mypoeticside.com/

dusk arising

the rain

 

 

the rain pelted horizontally against his face
running down his neck
he wanted hailstones, always wanted hailstones
or those rare nights when a blizzard
blew in from the west and the night lit up
though he could never see far through snow
it gave him the numbness of feigned blindness.
This was all he could do to forget the track
but wishful though he was, there was no forgetting.
He was always running. A free man now but....
freedom was a physical thing.....
...... there was no freedom in his mind.
The rain would wash over him and if he stood long enough