Awful rain thuds like untuned drums,
my coat clings like regret's shadow.
Each step sinks in yesterday's questions,
mud cuffs my boots like failed promises.
"Look, a dreamer hitching in the rain!"
"Shame, his eyes are already drowning."
They see the coat, not the soul,
a gangster stitched from tired fabric.
This road speaks in whispered gulps,
swallowing hope, spitting out damp resolve.
"Look at him, a mystery in decay."
Maybe they're right—I am my own ghost.
I aim for gold light, a westward myth,
through fogged-up maps and raw feet.
My heartbeat chants one word: escape,
as headlights smear like forgiving halos.
-
Author:
gray0328 (
Online) - Published: January 16th, 2026 12:06
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Online)
Comments1
So vivid and fresh despite its soggy nature this poem is raw and flows like rainwater carrying old feelings with it like debris. Well done Gray
Thanks my friend
Most welcome Gray
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.