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The night is hostile.
Sitting among the rooftops,
Wilful to lust,
Only surrendering to madness,
A drop of rain,
Holding onto a branch at the end of the garden,
Caught in the light,
Shimmering among the carcasses of trees,
Less like a star than a tear,
Until it falls,
Into the dampness of the mud,
And tripping over wires,
I stumble back to bed,
To sleep ‘till the morning.

© Billy Herklots 2013


Time for another one from Billy Herklots. A private moment transferred seamlessly to paper, this poem talks of the times late at night when sleep eludes us and we find ourselves alone with only our thoughts to keep us company. Billy finds himself lost within the simple, often overlooked action of a raindrop, which becomes a world all in itself, momentary, fleeting and soon to die. An accomplished piece which deserves to be read.

What are your thoughts on this piece?