In a weary daze
My westerly gazeIs caught by the rays
stretching out around cloud break
The sun a beacon, calling me back
As the clouds move right to left
Across my field of vision
Gathering atop my last location
The sounds of bass, piano, and drums
Necessarily drown out
The hungry gluttons that surround me
in a panicked rush to fill their gullets
I turn away to the window
Tears of rain distorting the view
Of the sun setting here
But warming the ground for my arrival
In my western home.
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