It's raining again.

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

Where do we go from these 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?

Few days ago,
We were boisterous,
Like children licking their toes
During the full moon.

Just days after
And 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.