The Poet: Crying In The Rain

The key is not for me,
No happiness there shall be,
I do not deserve to be free,
Bleeding, broken, and bound to a tree.

They freedom, thou dost surrender,
Going through life devoid of splendor,
Feeling like nothing more than a pretender,
At the very worst a repeat offender.

The sun is there, hidden behind black clouds,
Their silver lining is its burial shroud,
Tearing through and breaking their vows,
Into the depths beneath the bowels.

Here I am left, crying in the rain,
Wondering what life is like without any pain.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove


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