His face in his hands and his shoulders slumped,
A man sits in the corner of the room.
Happy people’s feet a floor above thumped,
While rain pitter-patters and darkness looms.
In thick droplets, water pools from his eyes,
As though each one contained a part of him,
And they scatter, like the storm in the skies.
His heart begins to rip him limb from limb.
And then, like a flash of lightning it comes,
Pain and agony shoots through his being,
It rocks and shakes him like the beat of drums,
And all his sadness runs away fleeing.
He looks out the window to greet the night,
And in fearless depression he takes flight.
Happy end of the week! I decided to change up my poem for this week with something not romance related (at least, not necessarily romance related, this poem is still open to interpretation). Let me know what you think of it! Its a sonnet, and it’s fairly close to being in iambic pentameter, so, you know, judge it how you will.