Noble Cause

A very short poem about depression.

Clouds rolled through the sky
Toward the autumn field.
Heaviness thickening amongst them,
A gray shroud encompassed the dead.

Blackness ensued at the onslaught
Of crying souls under
The weight of slow, building thunder.
The field went dark.

Echoes of rain from the past demise
Poured out across the cold sod.
It whispered softly of helpless pleas,
Then relented slowly in disguise.

The torture left more abruptly,
But remnants reminded.
The smell of the dying is recurring,
But someday would come to stay.