Promise delivered

Well, there’s rain outside the window,
Or at least the promise of one,
The cooling turned to a bone-chilling cold,
A steaming paper cup of sugarless coffee
And many stories.

No, no. Not the sweet nothings we’ve known before.
We are told these are things that matter --
Things that churn algorithms somewhere,
Make telephones bleat, people yell.
And then money is lost, money regained.

Life is an endless journey,
Of such fruitful days.

There’s pouring rain outside the window,
Drops chasing each other down on wet glass,
The smell of freshly dug up earth,
Comes coursing through memory.
The promise is delivered,
But my eyes burn.