Grey skies ‘gainst marbled stone
Wrathful thunder – engines moan
Petrichor mixes with diesel
Rain blots out the sun
Twilight checks in early (Mr. Blue Sky’s called in sick.)
Yellow eyes glare
Maybe something a little…
The city hides and raindrops fall. Are the two related?
Pearls fallen from the neckline of some goddess.
Bustling- bursting with energy. Everyone is moving – the city’s reawakened.
Somehow its more alive now than ever before
The night, the day – they seem dead and dull and quiet.
Drumbeats – frenzied stanzas. Fired from the heavens
Tiny silver bullets of that lifeblood we call water
A curtain, a mist of shower’d seas
Torrential, it spills greyscale over all
Accidents. Sirens. Screaming in anger. Screaming in pain. Then the age old question.
Without a doubt.
Some rejoice, others recoil, most race home to wait it out. Evening traffic timesed by four
Roll down the window – breathe it in.
Life, perhaps, is that the smell?
A little O3, some CH3, HO and CH3 again and of course C1O2
and something extra?
Petrichor perhaps and leave it at that.
All of us breathe in the rain scented wind as the downpour laps at our senses.
We feel a little more…
Perhaps grey is our natural state?