Quiet Rain

Sometimes my poems emerge from a phrase, a line or a stanza that invites itself into my consciousness; other times they arise from an image - usually one emotional or at least intriguing - in my mind. But sometimes, both: the first stanza of this piece blossomed in my mind one day in a matter of minutes, but the image of a broken, tired man in the rain developed with the poem. What inspires your works?

somewhere in
the silent storm
safely shackled
sandals torn

flinches at
the hint of rain
burning tears
streaks of pain

molten shades
and burning dark
lashes broke
your quiet heart

lying still
the cruel claws
tearing through
your carrion flaws

distant thunder
quiet rain
wash away
the years of pain

Also shared at WWP #91. More poems.