They say when it rains it pours.

I pray for the rain…
maybe then the clouds would go away,
or perhaps part for just a while.

At least there would be some change.
The air would be cleaner…

it might loose that stench.
The stench of gloom and despair
that it holds so tightly.

Yet, I live in it
Yet, I survive.

Conceivably though,
after the rain,
a ray of sunshine,
a glimmer of hope
could shine through.

But for now, day after day,
unending, unchanged,
it remains the same.

heavy.. thick.. air..
and gray sky

and I live in it.

Where is the rain?..

© Melt Magazine 2001