the sky
as black as soot.
even the moon,
hidden behind clouds.
Oh, so gray.
rain drips
like a million
leaky taps.
God
mustn't be a very
good plumber.
the church tower
with a bell at the top
casts a spooky shadow
over the village houses.
people, children
lie in bed,
comfortable.
as they sleep
they dream
sweet dreams,
awaiting warm soup
in the morning.
rain
pitter-patters
on their windows.
but in one house,
a little boy's dreams
roar menacingly.
he dreams
sour dreams,
of another
torturing day
to follow
as an orphan
with foster parents
as evil as
the monster under your bed.
even as he sleeps,
with his eyes closed,
tears fall.
they trace paths
down his cheeks,
drowning him in
his own sadness.
and as God's pipes leak,
so does the boy's soul.