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BomberJacknut
My name is blue paint, cracked, peeling
I know all too well - that fickle feeling
and all the cracks on that musty ceiling.
My name is echoes of a time gone by
I can't ignore, though I may try
-shadows that might never die.
My name is silence, empty, fleeting
broken only by muffled eating
and sagging in that eternal seating.
My name is lost, forgotten, old
and really would rather not be told
lest it remind of that rotten hold.
My name is breathing, heavy, strained
-an unsettled joy now forever stained
by feelings that have since remained.
My name is hunger, hatred, unrefined
Rain and wind, and wind and rain.
Will the Summer come again?
Rain on houses, on the street,
Wetting all the people’s feet.
Though they run with might and main.
Rain and wind, and wind and rain.
Snow and sleet, and sleet and snow.
Will the Winter never go?
What do beggar children do
With no fire to cuddle to,
P’raps with nowhere warm to go?
Snow and sleet, and sleet and snow.
Hail and ice, and ice and hail,
Water frozen in the pail.
See the robins, brown and red,
They are waiting to be fed.
Shall I mock you, and tell you that love shall endure.
Knowing you know the quality of things that are secure?
Let love be fierce as lightning, and as brief
As summer-hail, that is a storm's relief.