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
-
Author:
dusk arising (
Offline) - Published: November 26th, 2020 01:01
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 46
- User favorite of this poem: Poetic Dan.
Offline)
Comments7
...and if he stood long enough....?
Intriguing words d a.
Andy
This kind of writing is really for the reader, who is after all another creative poet, to create, or not, an ending. Each can construct a mood from within my words and their own life's experience to compose a closure.
Good write dusk.
O the irony or what ever! The rain is coming down, I so hope it stops her crying and let me get a few more hours in!
If not then like a soldier I'll start with the water to do last nights washing up lol
Raining cats and dogs - mind you don't step in a poodle.
a delightfully atmospheric example of classic prose ... a tale told terribly well and leaving the reader both wanting more but also strangely satisfied ...
... Neville
Ah, the bitter sting of memories, dark moods and regrets. Thanks dusk, atmospheric and brooding with the added tension and drama of the unspoken. Great one.
J
I can really empathise with the sentiment. Really like this piece
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