Sunday, 16 July 2017


When you told me
Your dreadful news
Of how you loved him
But still loved me.
When you let me see
What I already knew:
Self-delusion died.

Since that day
It always rains,
Even on the brightest day.
It always rains, 
It’s like it always will.
Will the clouds relent?
Will hearts be healed?
I doubt they ever will.

Will Sun break through?
Will rainbow arc again?
Will stars emerge?
Will Moon ever rise?
Will Mars stand down?
Will Venus conquer again?

For now, I see nothing:
Grey skies covers all.