The rainfall
in my dream
sounds much more like a scream
and I wake
only to find my disillusion.

In the stillness of the night,
It finds its shinning light and, dutifully, keeps me company.

It sits in solemn prayer,
by my bedside holding air of enlightenment, and sacred apathy.

I’m just like a child, hiding under its casting shadow overtop of me.

I cannot shake the thought: If I leap what will cause my stop- further grief and heartache can only follow.

So I take my rightful place, in honour and disgrace- disillusion you can be the death of me.