Minor Indiscretions

It became dark

the clouds descended

and it looked doomed

to be another one of my days

It’s not my way

to smile and nod

and stand deaf and dumb

while I am defiled

And it never fails to go

that when a task needs doing

there’s always a self-same sycophant

just waiting

to get in my way

and so it went...

The sky became black

the rain fell hard

and surely it was doomed

to be one of those days

And I looked all around

for some sign of help

(abandoned? surely not)

and resigned myself to fight

Alone... has it ever been another way?

yet the bitterness no longer talked

that hole in my chest didn’t ache

and what became was no longer mine

The rain became hail

soon the storm exploded

and it was already doomed

to be one of those days

It’s not my way...

It didn’t take long

for the fight to leave me

but what had become

was so much greater

than the sum of its parts

It was greater than my power

than the anger and fear

translated into a force

that could not be contained

and could not be polished

so raw and unsterile...

The wind became silent

a grey sky bloomed behind the black

and it was bound to be remembered

as one of those days

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A/N: The flow of this poem is a little off, isn't it? This is about, more or less, snapping. About not keeping silent and reserved and flying off the handle when the final straw is handed to you. Sorry--I suppose it doesn't make much sense unless you're in my head, but let me know what you think anyway.

Cheers,

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