Pitter Patter

I listen to the pitter patter of a silver rain
colouring the wan glass grey with strain
I feel the feeling of being headily drenched
and wake up to find, in a galss tomb i am trenched
With the whiffs and whaffs of crackers and tea
my wicked memory, restless, teases me
With a curl of my lips I watch them pass,
those wavy shadows of the greying glass
playing at being the thunderous waves of a silenced sea
a memoir of a bliss I can now only see
I try to remember, but fail
the potent taste of setting an unleashed sail
The wild cry of a free wind, so young
eludes me like some song I had once sung
I wonder why i am lying here like a vampire of light
interred by choice in this tomb of glass, fighting the flight
is this my fate?
to understand when its too late
the direction my life should have taken
to live in servitude of a glass, that can't be shaken

PS: I know most people would see this as a sad poem. But trust me, I was so happy to just be able to write something, that about wiped off everything else :)