THE PERFECT MELODY

THE PERFECT MELODY

The air is heavy.
Clouds roll in.
The sky grows dark.
You hear the first drops.
The water pounds on the roof
in a staccato melody of its own.
Pound, pound, pound.
Tap, tap, tap.
Rain washes our streets.
Clears our minds.
A new day arrives.

DEAFENING SILENCE

Desolate.
Alone.
Stark.
Cold.
Empty.
Sitting on a hill.
No houses nearby.
Only the comfort
of a bare tree.
The wind rattles
through my open beams.
Snow drifts in from my roof.
No peace.
Only cold.
And deafening silence.
Will it always be so?
Will the sun shine ever again?
Will horses return to my stables?
I could only wait and hope.

THE PERFECT MELODY

The air feels heavy.
Laden with moisture.
Clouds roll in.
The sky grows darker.
Then you hear the first drops.
The water pounding on the roof
in a staccato melody of its own.
Pound, pound, pound.
Tap, tap, tap.
The rain washes our streets
and clears our minds.
Preparing us for a new day.

A SAD HOUSE

seasons-in-hell:

TTT

A sad house.
It sits alone,
waiting for visitors.
Waiting for someone
to clean and fix it up.
A family would be preferable.
Even a family with a dog would
be better than the dead quiet.
It will continue to wait until its
shutters fall off and its roof sinks in.
As long as it has its four walls,
there will always be hope for better times.
If only walls could talk.