The Lonely Canary: Poem

A little canary rests upon its perch
sitting lonely in its cage, facing the doorway,
waiting, for a someone to enter
to hear it sing.

Rain falls noisily on the troughs,
just beyond the window panes,
while a storm rages behind the shutters.
There's no one home to keep a candle lit
in case the lights should go out.
Nor a message left to comfort the lonely soul
sitting in the darkness of the living room
with its head down, shirt untucked.

The canary sings fanciful
with its yellow tufts a-plume
hardly noticeable
in the shadows of the storm,
looming hesitantly upon the drapes-
casting out all the light,
whilst the yellow canary sings
above the cracking thunder

It is not night,
but the soul rests its head.
Slouching in the arm chair
with arms crossing its chest
wishing it were the rain,
apart of the fear in the storm
which breathes so violently
down upon our backs
when they're turned to past
hiding from the ones who've hurt us.
The soul slouches miserably
staring down at its lap

The canary still so vibrant in the dark
sings to no one, and no one responds
with its head turned toward the door
filling the emptiness of its cage
listening to the rain pour.