The Gentle Drop

Gloominess outside begins today. The rain pitters and swells reducing the previous shine of the sky to something resembling grey goose pie. Contrast no more, the damp aims to unsettle the score, this is just day one, must I remind you.

--Must I remind me really, you see the trees will gain from the rain and somehow simultaneously make me insane. Day one stuck inside, not too bad. Word on the street though is that the rain is persistent and frequent, like studded belt sequins it comes one after another and continues around in a circuitous motion, tipped out of a slowly stirred potion onto the lands and the sea, the slaves and the free.

 Shining beads land and stick on the bannister railing, suspended ever so gently from the underside of the cool metal, gravity urging it to settle,

but driven determination leaves it glued to the bar;

 a tear nestled in the crinkle of an eye, unwilling to fall,-

   like a seal balancing on its nose a ball.

Weeping outside, mourning for the unknown, streams form in the streets, like the running together of a worlds sorrows, perhaps all will be better on the morrow.