eh

I have no energy for anything

Not for my food, my body, or my feet.

I barely feel the motion of my seat

As I away back and forth. I cannot sing.

I lack even the anger I would bring

To feeling sick. I only feel defeat.

I have no strength to rouse myself or greet

The day. I'm strung up in a string

Of my own emptiness. It numbs the pain

So that I barely register it anymore,

But do not truly feel any relief.

I want to sleep. My eyelids will not wane

Which makes me almost wonder what they're for

But wondering is work beyond belief.

Rain, Fair

There's some divine displeasure in the day

That drips down raindrops on the milling crowd,

Turns calm white clouds into a whirling gray

(As if the summer's sky were disallowed),

Spills sodden seeds down onto city streets

That were not well-designed to take the load,

And when all this is done, simply repeats

Washing along all those who dared the road.

God does not dice with us; we are not players

But pieces moved around the board at need.

There is no hope for answer to our prayers:

Our wills are ours, but divine will is freed

To soak the city down at divine pleasure

Regardless of our hopeful plans for leisure.