Poetry: After a Week of Rain

After a Week of Rain

You are tired
of the darkness with it's blind cold
that seems to have no end;

Of looking in windows
with their fires and remembered warmth
that is no longer yours;

of unmarked paths
with deep unexpected ruts
crossed with the flotsam of constant storms.

You are tired
of autumn afternoons without the light of flowers
or the fragrant promise of honeysuckle mornings;

of the secret sniping of dark dwellers
who come out in the blackness of night
to nip unseen at your heels;

of hour after long hour
of trudging after a hope you cannot see,
but that is the only light you can imagine.

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The picture is not one of mine, but actually came from the Time Magazine web site, a picture from Hurricane Ike this past season, but it caught the mood of the poem perfectly.

Tom