Enough of this half-way month,
unable to chose
between borrowing
or giving. Enough of caprice,
don’t even call it whimsy,
and all this talk on
the strange weather
we’ve been having.
Enough of strange weather:
the freak tornado,
lashings of rain
from a high clear sky.
Of volatility.
Let your clouds be
clouds. No more
short hope,
no more
false awakenings,
no less, and
no more, either.
OPTIONAL POETRY 
I very much relate to this poem. You’ve captured something I recognize but can’t quite define. As much good poetry does. I love your last three stanzas.
LikeLike
Surliness? Hehe, thank you as always for your thoughtful comments!
LikeLike