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November 8, 2019


The Gloom


he looked like a man

he talked like a man

he walked like a man

but he was not a man

he was a Gloom, and he

wasnt even a large Gloom

just an indifferently sized

Gloom of indistinct murk and

even though the Gloom did all

you would expect a man to do

you could tell he was a Gloom

and not really a man

because everywhere he went

their conversation changed


The Gloom
A poem by Peter Rhebergen

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Each New Day A Miracle
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