The Devil’s Lies

The rain falls
and outside your window
colors are muted,

the wildness of fall,
tamed,
the stained glass, dulled.

It has been a long rain, not
the roaring wrath
of a summer thunderstorm

mad with bombast and pyrotechnics,
then gone. No,
this rain lingers like a cancer,

darkening day and night alike,
each raindrop a blanket over the sun
darkening the sky, darkening

your soul.
But your soul is an ancient one,
and while worn and beaten,

it is accustomed to the devil’s lies,
and you are no longer afraid of the dark,
knowing

The sun always, always, returns.

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The photograph is of a painting I completed recently. I haven’t decided if I like it yet, but it illustrated the poem well. You can click on it if you want to see a larger version.

Tom