The hands on the clock
slowly orbit the pale, dull face,
seemingly unaware
that the snow brought
a chill (or
at least a hint.)
The sun almost
shone as babies blinked,
staring at nothing
a general malaise that
lay beneath bubbles and
banana pudding breath.
Yes
snow covers the grass
and
a cold chill echoes through
the last
of a winter storm that turned whatever
we had planned black and cold,
echoes.
Depression cries out
through the seemingly endless black
(where noise blinds us,
while
not so long ago
this all made sense).
Amid the senselessness
of another terrifying flash
of lightning –
of the fury
that flares for an instant
then recedes
to background noise – we
find solitude, short
of understanding.
