the rain behind the bars is not really wet
a poem
people are hiding from the rain
their faces are all wet
umbrellas dancing in the rain
gusty winds tear at them
to the southeast where the land is bare
yet no one dares to look
seemingly busy with books
let it rain on our parade
there’s nothing but
the sounds of an unfaithful cause
locked in a cell
where are you serving your sentence
behind bars everything is blurry
a shadow of your past and future transgressions
from all that crap outside
you wish you could solve it but you don’t know how
with every raindrop hitting the metal roof
you wish you were somewhere else
but there’s nowhere else
after what you’ve done and you are aware
that the consequences are knocking on your door
every minute and every second setting the score
will you count all your new scars?
lessons you’d never learn
if you weren’t here again
*
for J O
*
February 2023
***
Thank you for reading!
If you liked this poem, you can add your Insights, Comment, leave a Heart, Tip, Pledge, or Subscribe. I will appreciate any support you have shown for my work.
You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Mescaline Brisset on my Vocal profile. The art of creation never ends.
About the Creator
Mescaline Brisset
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
so you want to be a writer? – Charles Bukowski
Find me on Medium
Comments
Mescaline Brisset is not accepting comments at the moment
Want to show your support? Send them a one-off tip.