Another Poetic Surge

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Thunder in the dark clouds, pouring down rain
Wetting her dirty grate bed and newspaper sheet.
Gritting her teeth, ignoring the cold and pain
Lord! What would she give for a little bit of heat?

Thunder in the heavens, Satan on his throne
They all pass her sodden cardboard estate.
Staring straight ahead, smiles set in stone,
They would never allow that to be their fate.

Thunder in her brain, cancer in her heart
Once she was called mother, daughter and wife.
Now the “bag lady” shuffles behind a rusty cart
Who could believe she really wanted this life?

Thunder in the clouds, lightening in the sky
Her fragile home crumbled, quicker than her hope.
Weary of fruitless prayer, this lady was ready to die
Always alone and afraid she can no longer cope.

Thunder in her hand, blood pooling in the rain.

 

Now I lay me down to think,
I've cried so much it burns to blink,
For a minute I thought you would care,
For a couple moments I thought you'd be there.

Sitting here on this hard cold floor,
Staring blankly at a locked wooden door,
You never became the man I thought you to be,
And now that you've blinded me I can see.

Every harsh word that peirces my skin,
Takes away the darkness that was pulling me in,
That sheild, that restraint won't be there much longer,
Because every move you make I'm a little bit stronger.