The Storm's Sonnet

Thunder cracks in dreary stone split skies. Jarred As the looming clouds, I am drenched in blues As I scrap the scribbled lines I learnt by heart For you. Another wasted sonnet fused By tears and cloudburst with pain. The storm Of my soul plays an aimless song again, A cyclone melody trapped by its form.

Fourteen lines rotate like a weather vane Searching for the direction I can’t find, While new rain in this constant streaming city Spirals the memories stuck in my mind. I’m left with the rhymes of strained self-pity

As I slowly trace the trickle of drops And wait inside for the storm to stop.

Rachael Clarke