Bereft
And ever above,
clouds of sorrow
assemble in thunderous ranks:
a surfeit of threat
and gloom.
And ever below,
unhappy footsteps
surrender rhythm
to unyielding pavement—
against a gray and endless plain.
Who but a fool
dreams that sorrow
can be bartered
for kindness and love?
The beggared soul abides.
And, in his eyes,
the ashen world
grows, blurs and overflows
to run down his cheeks.
And it rains.
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