rainy illusion

when the fiery wind sings

Old Bank Street, Manchester, UK by R.A.D. Stainforth 

you hold my arm
(it makes a nice frame for pictures)
you have mastered that craft
to create illusions

just a deal, that show of caring
it can't repair the damage,
fathom deep, cracked to the edges

such a close call
why would anyone add to it
those redundant emotions
I want it back, I want to exist
I don't trust chance anymore

"the billow of clouds, 
cloud my mind, 
and I let you hold my hand"

broken like that venus

the ghost of a sky opens up for us

showing a glimpse of its mighty anger

by the way of thunder 

but lightning is really the path
if a circle can be called that

fear of the unknown tears into us
when the howl of the wind rises and rises
veins go icy cold despite the heated flesh
I place my hands on the granite table,
empty and cold, through and through

you fill the bathtub for me
yet I feel so abandoned
when the howling winds call out names
I can sense the weight of loss
of something as yet un-named

"a fallen tree, its broken twigs, all speak of chaos out there"