The Weather Inside

My eyes are clouded over
it is raining in my soul,
temperatures are dropping
and the wind is growing cold.

The atmosphere is heavy
I carry it with strain,
just when I think it’s lifting
I feel the weight again.

My eyes are clouded over
it is raining in my soul,
the river rushing through me
is sure to overflow.

I’m mired in the mud,
my feet encased in clay,
and everywhere I look
my world’s in disarray. 


   
              Nov 2003