Rainy Chicago blues baby,
Well, simply put,
rain pouring down my back,
my soles are soaked,
but my soul is drowning,
I spot an old man playing the piano,
his sorrow reeks of whiskey and cigarettes,
he lost his wife, his kids don't love him,
just a man and his piano,
love isn't just with a person
Rainy Chicago Blues,
it's all over this town,
sad faces walk by,
I see watery eyes just about to tear,
we all hope for the sun,
but the cloudy grey skies cast our hopes to Hell,
even the birds don't want to sing
Rainy Chicago Blues,
an old black man sits on the corner,
rain drops drip from his wide brimmed hat,
slowly, but surely,
he begins to play the blues,
surely he's crazy,
he is slowly dying,
his lungs filled with water,
but he pays no mind and continues to strum,
the Jesus of this rainy Chicago day
It's like my second poem so constructive criticism would be nice just don't be brutal. Thanks!