Disgruntled on a Sunday Night

There is a static in the air, smoke from a bushfire yonder
Pervades the atmosphere, like a blanket of fear
Choking, guttural and animal; floating like lime
On a slow spluttering river of salt

A storm rises without warning, but I feel it
Growing with momentum, it comes upon us
An idealist’s disdain for the smallest speck
Of grime smeared like blood across his name

The heart pounds, disquieted and harassed
Growling like a flea infested dog
And where should I begin, to shout out to the wide
Blue yonder, on this empty landscape of mine

The words come easily, like alcohol to a drunk
But I am too sober, and my mind somber
Subtle but sharp, like the sliver of lightning
Echoing the thunder in the distance,

Presently, it will begin to rain
But I forgot my damn raincoat.