The somberness of steady rain
falls heavy on a weary soul,
extracting much too high a toll.
The spirit’s poor attempt to feign
a sense of calm amidst the storm
is acted out to misinform,
as if exists a tiny grain
of hope to cause a cosmic spark
to lighten up the wretched dark.
With inner dragons not yet slain,
no knight can keep the beast at bay
so rain continues through the day.
And thus a haunted, bleak refrain
repeats itself, a tragic song
to sink the weak and tempt the strong.
© Susan Schoeffield
Playing around with poetic forms today. This poem is written as a Constanza. Poet Note: I’m not as despondent as this poem might suggest, although doing laundry sometimes fills me with despair.