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Poem

  • 20-01-2010 8:19pm
    #1
    Closed Accounts Posts: 13


    Constructive criticism would be very much appreciated..




    Fountain Pen



    The sky is an uncertain grey.
    Its hoard of wetness
    is about to be either
    emptied onto the city
    or not emptied onto the city.

    Behold, the sun’s dull curtain
    pulls itself tightly shut.

    The first drops smear the words.
    There is no doubt about it now.

    It is definately raining.


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