Poetry Thursday

Unlike many of you talented ladies, I am no writer but oh how I wish I were! I wrote this song Saturday night and thought, hey a song is a kind of poem right? I hope you enjoy.
This is a fiirst for me!! I have NEVER shared a poem or song I have written ever!! I am quaking with fear and embarassment but in the interest of being open and sharing with all of you who have come to mean so much to me, here goes.

The rain is falling sideways,
it’s freezing here tonight.
The sky is black like velvet,
no moon to give it light.
I stumble towards the streetlight, guided by its hum,
expecting to find the orange glow,
but I can’t see a thing.

I think that I am screaming,
my throat’s sore and tired.
I know that I was running,
there are blisters on my feet.
Everything’s confusing
and I don’t feel like me.

The clouds are parting,
it’s twilight,
my favorite time of day.
Face turned toward the changing,
a thorn bush cuts my arm.
I watch the blood rise to the surface,
but I can’t feel a thing.

I think that I am screaming,
my throat’s sore and tired.
I know that I was running,
there are blisters on my feet.
Everything’s confusing
and I don’t feel like me.

Scanning all the faces,
their lips move up and down.
I know their words are final,
and I am on the ground.
The chaos rushes at me,
everyone talking all at once.
But I can’t hear a thing.

I think that I am screaming,
my throat’s sore and tired.
I know that I was running,
there are blisters on my feet.
Everything’s confusing
and I don’t feel like me.

Spring has sprung the flowers,
they’re blooming all around.
The bees and birds are feeding,
there’s color on the ground.
I pick a rose and lift it,
It’s strange and light in my hand,
I raise it to fall in
But I can’t smell a thing.

I think that I am screaming,
my throat’s sore and tired.
I know that I was running,
there are blisters on my feet.
Everything’s confusing
and I don’t feel like me.

They’re all here to help,
as they pour out some wine.
I see it in their faces,
and I know it’s time.
Burgundy liquid swirls up inside the glass,
then it drips back down.
But I can’t taste a thing.

I think that I am screaming,
my throat’s sore and tired.
I know that I was running,
there are blisters on my feet.
Everything’s confusing
and I don’t feel like me.

I don’t feel like me.