Golden Rays

For days it has been rain
dripping into my soul; the bathtub
through the leaky roof. My pain
is falling from the sky.

I am made of tin [rusting]
and the water pools inside my gut.
I am alone and I am lusting
For red clouds and golden rays.

The other garbage mocked me a while,
But finally I curled up
and recognized myself. Denile
Is a clever creature, more so, than the fox.

The End

138 comments about this poem Feed