Rainy

Morning birthed of December’s charm,
Cries today, from the heavens, forlorn,
Screams the voice, in thunder and rain,
Echoing the enchantress’s awakening pain.

The enchantress, the angered skies, bewitches,
And with a lordly lioness’s roar, they answer in rumble,
But her sudden pride, with her realization, evaporates,
Collapses the raised hand, and dark turns the December day.

Because tortured is the enchantress, so the skies say,
In drizzle, in forked tongue, in strong a rain,
Slowly, for enchantress, the rain turns storm,
Of her agony, a living metaphor.

In her watery world, no sunshine seeps,
When cherub is gone, the skies only grieve,
In frenzy, the rampant storm shall rage,
Until cherub this way comes, all is frozen in stormy day.

Lightning, of fierce dignity,
With rue, a sorry, bespeaks,
Energy, from the tip, does explode,
Mournful is the melancholic power, the happiness, they erode,

Enchantress, heavyhearted, is swallowed,
By tempest, and rain, joy is disallowed,
The image, of her mind’s eye, constructed,
Shall persist the hysteria, until cherub returns, to clear her conscience.

The songbird spoke at 12:39 am on the 27th of December, 2009.