Made of Rain – A poem

I can’t touch the heart of the rain, it can only touch me
As it slips right through my fingers
Where a liquid hand can’t be held.
And the rain may have a beat but it’s too soft and quick
To be human and too rhythmic to be alive.
The rain never stutters or skips a beat
And I can dance in it but it can’t dance with me.
I can speak a soliloquy and pretend the rain is listening
But it can never confess a single secret back to me.
The rain may smell like a breath or a familiar comfort
But the rain is everything that has ever felt lonely.

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Blooming in the rain – A poem

april showers bring may flowers
and there is purpose in the rain
the human heart holds strength in powers
to control suffering when there’s pain

there are only shadows because there’s sun
without light all life would turn dour
with rain, melancholy flowers can bloom
no matter how broken, our heart is still ours

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Rain – A Poem

It is not the rain That makes the sound. It is the collision Of water bullets beating a surface. I will always find discomfort In the sound of rain hitting my head, Drumming on the walls of my skull, Tapping on my window pane. Water holds so much power As if these droplets Are actually…

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