The Weatherman

Whether to be or whether not to be, pink petals pricked from flowers.
Wondering whether the tether will hold, or if the life will drain from ours.
Hours and days I have weathered away, wondering if you will stay.
I am a weather man, say “sunny today” , as I hide my shadow away.

My worthless Lies are Pathetic Fallacies
I’m Feeling Falling Rain in me
I’m Free falling to your feet
A metaphor cast casts a life that’s bleak.

 I try to make you smile for me in hour showers of simile
But one cannot use poetry to part the skies and free the heat.
Each day reiterates my alliteration. That feeling falling rain sensation.
I’m a patient patient, without medication. Suffering your precipitation.

Hailing God seems of snow use.
Puns seem rather dry.
Humor alleviates the hate
That falls from the sky.

The petals picked, rot on the floor, they are never swept away.
The tether is ripped, you have gone, and have left me here to stay.
I have no time left for my day as I spent it all on ours.
I am a weatherman, say “sunny today”, but I rot like the flowers