Lonely Pints, Crowded Bars

The stale foam sizzles from the top,
Slowly descending into blackness.
I glance up,
Wishing a quiet conclusion to the night.
One that has yet to prevail, 
But drowns in the sound of roaring tongues. 

Language is lost as I removed myself from their reach.
My head then leaks of questions,
Questions their minds will never articulate.
I often wonder of the answers,
Checking the bottom of this glass,
Finding only a trail of excuses.

It won't always be this,
I will never share this reflection. 
The robin will fly. 
I leave this void to rest and welcome the cold breeze.
The drops soon follow, soaking the surroundings,
Forcing the roaring tongues to cower.

I leave with one question answered:
Everything shimmers in the rain.