When you lay beside her
You can hear the breaking of her heart
Like the pounding rain on a red tin roof.
Her sky is packed tightly with gray clouds
In an interminable beat
That shatters unmercifully into a thousand droplets.
She displaces it
Behind a veil of duplicity
Smothering the truth of words she use to love.
She belongs to the continuum of time
Misguided on an invisible curve
Shadowed by the mist that thatches the heavens
With endless waterfalls between the lines.
She lays under each sentence
Buried in monotonous sound
Like the piping in the gutters,
Melting into an intentional flow.
She falls blindly into the marsh grass
That seeps hopelessly and without reason
Into every crevice of her teeming mind.
The rain was accusing
And annihilated her in a grave
Where everything became weary
And terrifying in its significance.
She was dispensed into wavering intentions
Exposing the discordant emotions
That delve darkness in the night
Absorbing her into the cycle illusions of the rain.
© Linda Moon