A dark black storm is coming
It's been hanging there for years
I bolts and it thunders
but never sheds its tears
It covers up the light
And illusionates a cloud
And makes up the ironic
single silver shroud
It makes the house cast shadows
In and of itself
A mile weeded medows
or dust upon the shelves
An acre broken pipes
with no more water leaking out
with crawling legs in gutters
With silver silk inside their mouths
Closed windows
broken glass
creaking boards
And untamed grass
Hidden where you see
A path to cast it sight
The cloud to cast away again
And shed upon the light.
