A Failed life

And the pale blue sky,
Changed along shades of grey,
The heavens rained vengeance,
In a class of its own, persisted the day.

On days like these,
Stories weave themselves,
They speak to me of distant lands,
Of angels and demons, of fairies and elves.

And oblivious to the crowd,
My conscience becomes a wanderer,
It's a beautiful world in there,
Deep inside, down and under.

I live these stories,
As long as it pours,
With the rain gone,
I rereat to my lowly odd chores.

Maybe someday, I won't depend,
On anything but self to free my mind,
Tell me mate, one last time,
Wouldn't that be a sight?