Overcast
The seasons are no long warm,
and I can feel the brewing of a storm,
the clouds are crying, starting to mourn.
Doesn’t matter what we do or say,
each and every hour of a single day,
we slip further and further away.
Where we’re going no one really knows,
who can guess which way the storm blows,
so all the windows and doors I try to close.
If you decide to leave me today,
don’t turn back and try to stay,
as I’ll be walking the other way.
if you search all of your mind,
I think you will try to find,
a sanctuary of a different kind.
I wish it was just a passing phase,
but the storm is blowing too many ways,
leaving us with a bleak sky, a cloudy daze.
I know you like this time of year,
but it is so cold standing here,
and the distant horizon is clear.
So I’m leaving the scene of the crime,
and it’s definitely for good this time,
and I can’t escape this feeling of mine.
It’s almost like I’ve won first prize,
a feeling that I just can’t disguise,
as I’m leaving behind these autumn skies.
I turn from you and you turn from me,
and I hear one last bolt of electricity,
then it rained smiles as I walked free.
poem by Dale Mullock
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
