Scribbler Of Verses Poet I do not know?

Rain In the City

as the rain falls on the city

all words

seem drenched

running like worthless ink off meaningless paper

yet

the rain falls incessantly on

in sheets of glassy vehemence

tearing my thoughts apart

splintering the fragile truce of this night

words, just worthless words

floating by

wrestling me to the ground

worthless words

devoid of all feeling, and of everything that should be true

disjointed and hollow

as my thoughts in melancholic comfort wallow

wrapping me in a shroud of accepted gloom

a vain cloak of indulgence, 
while revelling in the impending doom

and still the rain keeps pouring

clipping the wings of my dreams

that are no longer intent on soaring

but why do i subject you

to all this idle and quite bitter chatter

for when all is said and done and scribbled

will any of this matter?

so i take leave of you, yet again

as i surrender 

to the lunacy of the sane

and to the whipping

of the cold, biting harrowing rain...

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