On a wet empty desolate street, A lamp burns alone . . . Its fuel running out-- Waiting for morning . . . soon! A dim and grim light casts a shadow over a figure He is clutching a paper tight, within his hands Reading it quickly So that the rain doesn't wash the words away. A puddle has formed at his feet, I cannot tell if it is from the rain or the tears Streaming down his cheek, From his crimson eyes . . . Reading, watching, His flame of love has burning out, Letting it throw a dense smoke of sorrow and solitude, On his heart And on the dying lamp with its light . . . Dampened and washed away by the rain.
Reason for writing:
I was sitting alone one night, and it started to rain. In my mind I felt sad for those lovers left out in the rain, and immediately I had an image formed in my head. I couldn't resist the oppurtunity to depict what I was thinking at that moment. So, this poem came to be!
Birth sign: Not entered
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