Indigo Clouds and Tinman

The clouds turn indigo. The animals hurry silently away.
I, the Tinman, alone, furious before the coming storm,
Yet stolid to my friend.
Lightning flickers as I try–to hope.
The wind draws me in its arms and away
More carelessly than a dead beat dad.
Wrecking balls clutter the sky
Crumbling; my life scattering on the windy sea.
I pretend I am not–to cope.
Blind and deaf, I hurry for hiding.
The rain comes. I am still here.