Saturday, 25 May 2013

slate grey sky

storm over head 
the edge of a slate grey sky
-where its white-
they'll remain dry 
but below the grey 
he runs, he runs away
from them drops of rain
hard rain
and the noise it makes 
when it hits the concrete
-a thousand tiny smacks-
the smell of
-washed new-
he continues 
running through
the dark-skinned runner
with his crisp slate grey suit 
matching the slate grey sky 
in his ears, those white 
head phones
to cut him off from the present
to drown out the sound
-of water against concrete-
yet there's no where to hide
from fat drops of rain
take the head phones out 
man and you'll gain
much more
from this moment
-concrete and rain-