About the Powerless

9/365 – The rain makes everything grey

So you think
as the limping soul
with a broken umbrella
walks by the white trees
always beguiled by pain
on the earth’s red throat
made up of angry words.

It has snowed early
even the darkness seems larger
in a greenless nature
only a sparrow is an onlooker
you want to leave
but it’s a poet’s sentence
to be fleshly imprisoned
not blindly out of sight.

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