A Walk in Mist

A mirthful drizzle bathed me
As I walked in wistful fancy.
This autumn night angry
While I played the dandy.

Language is torpid, sickly.
I turned words into fallacy
And all the while I could see
My languid melancholy.

Though rain is eerily free
Its guilt is coy, thorny
And this drizzle will nearly —
Nearly fade in ecstasy.

So, I grasped myself warmly
Accusing the raindrops coolly
And felt my thoughts giddy
In view of death so fully.

Photo by

JLB88 | Pixabay