It's raining again.

In my head,  in my heart,  in my eyes.
My questions and demons are back.

Where do we go from this plains?
Blue cold Plains of anguish
Set before us....
By the unseen fingers of the years.

Where do we look for light-
Green rays of the sun
To lift our forlorn souls?

We were boisterous,
Days ago
Like children licking their toes
At full moon.
Just days after
And now we are growing old.

Age creeps on us like a creeping flood
We are separated from the vestiges of
Carefree laughter.

Today,  I met a man going southward
He was lying on a blue cloaked bed
Shedding the remnants of his wry skin.

And he said to me,  son,
It all goes up in smoke,
It's all going up to the sky
And nothing will be left behind.

It's raining hard
In slants.