I have been one who's apt to see the cloud
In front of that relentless silver line,
To sift and weigh the likelihood of shroud
While others tend to hold onto a sign
Of life, of possibility, of good.
I shake my head and wonder where they find
Their certainty that somehow, something could
Shake free the frozen heart, repair the break,
Prop up the fallen soul to where it stood.
Then I, well, I just shrug and hope their stake
Comes true, that naysayers like me are wowed.
But even while I'm rooting for that crowd,
I have been one who's apt to see the cloud.
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| Writing Prompt |
Dig out one of your old poems and post it here for the first time ever. Any length, any style. |
Author Notes
From a more negative time in my life, I fashioned this "glass-half-empty" piece on Robert Frost's "Acquainted With the Night".
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