A free-verse poem — The sky is a garage for our grief,
painted with our heartbreaks,
trauma, and 3 AM thoughts. The sky cannot hold so much.
It vents out in different ways. Snowfall is the sky’s monologue.
Soft, pure, and refined.
Hailstone is the sky’s grumbling.
Meaningless and complex.
Rainfall is the sky’s rant.
Angry, impactful, and sordid…