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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.
Copyright ©
M. A. Ceilidh
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