Turn the Page, Turn the Life | A Writer’s Battle for Survival | Help Her Win
Turn the Page, Turn the Life | A Writer’s Battle for Survival | Help Her Win

Cold Rain

Cold Rain

2 mins

A cold deserted alleyway,

Dark as a desolate grave.

Away off in the distance,

Dogs howling their dismay.

A winter wind is gathering,

Blowing tattered old papers away.

With tired forgotten faces

And the news of yesterday.

Discarded cans and bottles

A clatter on down silent streets.

The chill night air is biting

As he pulls in frozen feet.

So many dull and dreary nights

Spent seeking private reproof.

The familiar pitter-patter sounds

Upon his cardboard roof.

His heart is filled with shame,

There’s a cold, deep hollow pain...

And here comes the rain.

In and out of a fitful sleep

His dreams are demon-filled.

Taunting him and teasing him,

Destroying the last of his will.

He hears an awful scratching

And he’s searching all about.

The sight of rats around his feet,

He screams and then kicks out.

Scuttling away in the darkness,

Squeaking out with their complaint.

Off to find some other poor soul

To torment and to taint.

Another wretched creature,

Living life down in the drain...

And here comes the rain.

Traffic swishing here and there

On dampened tarmac lanes.

Home to feel such loving arms,

A fire of flickering flames.

Safe within their warm embrace,

They watch the hot flames dance.

No need for words between them

As they drift into a trance.

Silently they kiss and cuddle

And gaze into each other's eyes.

Warm, dry and safe inside

The others contented sighs.

His long distant memories

Are all that remain...

In the cold and pouring rain.

His body starts to tremble

With a deep and longing need.

The painful image beckons him,

Then just as slowly recedes.

A sob escapes the wilful wall

He’d built to hold it in.

It turns into a mournful moan,

That’s lost amidst the din.

His body is wracked with baleful cries

For a life that he once enjoyed.

So fragile, as he soon discovered,

He’d watched it all destroyed.

And all he now has to show

For all those precious years,

Is a glimpse of sunlight memory,

Between clouds of doubt and fear.

A bitter, painful afterimage;

An un-relenting stain...

In the cold and pouring rain.

And like the slow dawn breaks,

He lies motionless and quiet.

Whilst out there on the busy street,

People talk about their diets.

Oblivious to the lifeless victim,

Enshrined in a cardboard tomb.

A helpless soul in a world of indifference,

He lost his fight too soon.

The report will say, “Hypothermia”

They'll tie a tag on his toe.

But the real tragedy in his tale,

Is that nobody will ever know.

That a once proud and happy man

Could no longer take the strain.

He died of a torn and broken heart,

In the cold...

And the dark...

And the rain.

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