My open window bears a gaping hole,
Welcoming and whining the sounds of my soul,
A tasteful mesh of stormy delight,
In a moment so blissfully lonesome tonight.
Whirls of wind that plow through the trees,
Rain drops pouring and pissing wherever it may please,
Slight brisk drafts of air cooling me at ease,
In this hot, oven-like bedroom, while I cough and sneeze.
Alarm clock sets for the dawn of tomorrow,
I lay here filled with bouts of sorrow,
How this beat of peace is simply a borrow,
Due to this I whimper, whine, and willfully wallow.
The openness of my window, this gaping frame,
The darkness of my bedroom, delightfully same,
Provides sense of solitude in this world, without blame,
I complain not a lick that this is the name of my game.