The Crying Gentlemen Poem by Aaron Wright

As the light slowly fades, the billowing gentlemen cascade across the sky,
Shadows become darker, as the light is slowly enveloped by the inkiness.
A smattering of drops begins to patter the ground like the small steps of a dancing child,
The air grows cooler…cooler…the gentlemen grow angrier.
A rising cadence of gunfire begins, rivulets of molten glass track through the streets,
Combining with the stained dusty ground, where the people gathered to talk,
The silvery light now becomes laced with pure blackness, no respite is given.
Through the misty bleakness, shadowy figures run from doorway to doorway,
Looking, diving and praying for cover from the tempest now growing.
Puddles become streams, streams become rivers, rivers become oceans,
The torrential downpour ceaselessly goes on.
As dawn breaks, the gentlemen have lost their fervour,
Replaced instead with a vibrancy of shade, with gentle rays of golden magic,
A splendid burst of multi-coloured brilliance makes a welcomed return,
The promised pot of D’or forever out of reach, yet coveted by so many,
There is a spring in the step of the once shadowy figures; a new day spurns new life,
The oceans still remain, but slowly even they recede, leaving behind only drenched memories.
No longer the crying gentlemen.