this is a game of consequences,
angles, perspectives, attitudes
pitiless, clear
nothing less, nothing more
there’s a futile dead end to thought
the pathos filled path to no place
that wide open sceptical door
to self pity, the pit, no mercy
making us less than we are
a shard of ice in the heart
the manacled fire of the mind
where life becomes paltry,
feeble, flawed
into the darkness we walk
drowning our sorrows
dying for water
parched

caught from an earlier rain
a droplet on a dark leaf
reflecting a light that gleams
a shimmering fragile globe
it mirrors the tree, growing above
where wide open branches reach to the sky
if we ever looked up we would see
the way they turn to the sun and grow tall

nothing can make us small
nothing will stop us from standing again
except the belief that the sun doesn’t shine
and the clouds will never bring rain