They won't know your name,
I tell the grave
Silent,
Cold,
Dreary.
They won't care you've gone. They won't even know.
I wish it were raining.
At least then, there would be a sound
A pitter-patter,
A hush,
A response to what I'm saying.
But you're gone, and I'm here,
Alone,
Bitter,
Weeping.
And now the rain comes
To awash me with grey.
I watch
Quiet,
Mute,
Despairing
As the colors fade away. 

RATE THIS CHAPTER!