Josh Clayton

Blue sky,
Clear headed, step away
From the a/c room that shows no trace,
Of the oppressively humid day,
And the reality of everything still to face,

Deep breath,
Rev bike,
Could be a nice day,
Cool breeze against skin,
“Maybe it stays that way” you say,
Ignoring the monsoon that waits within,

Hard work,
Keep going,
Clothes get heavy with sweat,
Are those clouds you see in the distance?
Did I prepare for a day that is wet?
Is that doubt seeping into my conscience?

Fake smile,
Push back,
Hope that somehow the dam won’t break,
And it stays sunny throughout the day,
Maybe it won’t be more than you can take,
Though you don’t believe the words you say,

A waste,
Everything you planned unfinished,
Black clouds now cover the sun,
All confidence diminished,
No choice now but to run,

Leaves fly,
Dust swirls,
Vortexes formed in the gale,
Batter the eyes from every direction,
No rain jacket or poncho, again, a fail,
The first drops fall as tears form in your vision,

With fury the skies rend in two,
The monsoon inside now unchained,
Within seconds soaked right through,
Unable to feel anything but pain,

Plod upstairs,
Nothing matters,
Drenched clothes slosh to the floor,
Where no one can see you cry,
Hidden away behind a locked door,
Alone as the monsoon rages inside,