"Poetry and hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. All you can do is go where they can find you" – A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
Rain cries for me, where you could not.
Where your soul was never ripped apart,
My savaged limb still hangs from yours.
Oh God, that I could fall from clouds
And cry for cheeks that pain forgot.
The honey glaze of drizzle smooths,
A landscape of hard and corporate gloom.
A brazen hit to each romantic heart
Not steadied by the grey faced many,
Whose eyes are hallowed from their unkept youths.
A dusk sits upon this wetted city,
The lights stream up in little flames
Their heat, embracing the gentle air
That comes with open mouthed despair.
While clouds look down and send their pity.