Weathervain
Light rain crying softly on my windowpain
ice cold road mapped hands
directing wet, salty film away.
Water paints so perfectly displayed
in a wink the pale canvas starts to decay.
Flawless beauty violently strikes into ashes
streaks of lightning remain
behind diamond studded glasses.
Thunder rolls inside this hollow, temperate frame
like a strong storm chasing
each and every grain.
Once a clear sky
overnight the light died
too afraid to go back to what is left of inside.
Looking up into the long, billowy flight
of snowball white stairs
Feeling a calm caress
my damaged wind blown white hairs.
A gentle breeze dancing around
our appropriate attire
as stain glass tears put out
this blazing inner fire.
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