(to Be Named Later) Poem by n. j. saroff

The melancholy sound of gloom is a quiet haunting eating away at the back of my mind.
Its teeth are the voice commanding me to die.

I am just a passenger to the world's spinning
I sit,
I watch,
I have no control,

So I lie still in the grass as the rain falls against my bare skin,
Speaking in shades of blue,
Slurred words tumble out of the skies mouth
Saying nothing but drip drip drop

The night is wet and dreary when the scent of the storm, now gone, is all that is left
Does the lightning ever mourn the thunder when the sound comes from afar?