Weight of the Clouds

The sky hangs heavy, a curtain of gray,

     soaked through my jacket, my thoughts all in flux,

     rain pounds like drums on the pavement’s decay,

     drowning the whispers, the weight of the muck.

It seeps into shoes, claiming the ground,

     and swells like my worries, unshaken, unseen,

     drops tap on windows—a lonesome sound,

     the world blurs, leaving only in-betweens.

Yet still I walk on, through puddles and sighs,

     wishing this rain could wash my mind clear,

     but drops fall like questions that shatter and rise,

     lingering long after, and leaving me here.