It Would Rain on that Saturday by Ken Allan Dronsfield

Absent of pearl in a grand ocean mollusk

crying self righteousness without salty tears

seeking to find truth in an unrelenting fervor

watch the dark floating in a twilight's fear.

dancing in the dark, or waltzing in a whirlwind

depraved and decrepit as a one legged snake

sweet tea from the spot in a cherry wood box

steeped in red clay pots amongst the ingrates.

lightning strikes throughout the lower treeline

disturbing thoughts of ambivalence in dreams 

hoods in mourning whilst a crypt-like fog lifts

great gates of iron hold the spirit deep within.

rain hits upon leaves making a steady tapping

bare feet hit the road, a slippery slope aghast 

a poncho saves the day, in a simple pious way

for we all knew it would rain, on that Saturday.

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a published poet from Oklahoma. He loves thunderstorms! His published work can be found in reviews, journals, magazines and anthologies throughout the web and in print venues. His poetry has been nominated for two Pushcart Prize Awards and the Best of the Net for 2016.