My Laughs Are Filled With Buckets of Rain

Filled my soul with aching to keep my brain from faking its joy. Torn hearts asunder, I once was filled with wonder but now I dread the thunder and my laughs are filled with buckets of rain. The leaves my palms were built of are wilting with rusty, dusty ash. Slighted by the gods’ convictions, uncomfortable with their restrictions I became ungoverned by ordinance and unyielding faith. My sighs are filled with yawning and yearning, my soul’s shrill cries are tossing and turning against the wind. Soothing is the ice on the capes and softly my trembling skin aches with the chill of snowflakes and numbness.