Return of Sun

The steel sky surrendered it's captive - rain.
Glossy became the crimsin leaf pile.
To the sound of the static putter, I traverse the mental miles.
My tear soaked soul has a gloss all it's own.
The rain is as if you turned me inside out.
Trapped in this gloom, the return of sun
is a plausible doubt.

Hope is something known, like the lone but consistent chirp of a bird.
The sun, she sleeps beneath the cotton clouds.
For her promised return, I silently yearn.
Life seems easier when the sun lends a shine.
Total strangers become randomly kind.
To ponder the meaning of our existence,
Can beads of rain cleanse our assumptive lies?  
The newfound sun lightens the fate of our inevitable
demise.