Rain of Pain

Listen to the dirge―the song of the wrecked.

The battered, oppressed, and the wretched;

When dreams and screams beget deep hate.

To bemoan the steel ball and chains of fate.

To tinker around in their areas of thought.

To nibble the lemon―the lame idea taut.

When demons cradle the sorrows they besot;

With my brothers swaddled to follow in a foxtrot.

In nook and crannies, their souls are wedged.

When at random, their senses are ebbed.

Who dare contrive blabs in the rain of pain.

To utter aloud subtle words again in vain.