Sombernay Grey

Dreary concrete weighs    
heavily upon the sky    
pressing everything  
into drizzling melancholy wine  
   
I sip its sorry vintage  
never a good year    
salty chilled misery  
drenching my soul in    
   
greyness  
   
Funny how it works  
this tragic magic  
eclipsing all hope  
of bright summer days  
   
Catapulting me upended  
into heaving waves of    
sorrow  
allowing me neither  
to swim nor drown  
   
So, here I mope    
at my streaked pane  
manning a poet’s post  
with glum quill in hand  
writing on tear soaked paper  
   
savoring my sombernay grey