Miserable Days

The sky is dark, streaked with grey

introducing to us

this miserable day.

Speaking softly, crying gently,

only whispers spoken

Heard only on the sparse traces of wind...

carrying themselves to us all,

everywhere.

Standing outside, I hear everything.

Every whisper spoken today.

Tomorrow.

Yesterday.

They carry, and stop

and stay a while.

But only on days where the sky is streaked 

with grey. 

Only on the most miserable days...