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the wind carries you name but I won't listen
the rain has your scent
I learned much from living
not every angel is heaven sent
all the the love I was giving
I wonder where it went
alone on these dark nights
like you I learn to cherish it .
confessions of a newborn

It's been something of a while
      since I tumbled down
from warmth and darkness
      into this strange bright space.

I see you coming towards me
     and curious parts of me
begin to dart about in all directions
     because I remember you.

Every time you're here
     something glad happens:
           you hold me to your warmth,
           you bring good food to my mouth
           to ease the ache inside,
           you make pretty sounds
           that tell me I am safe -
           that tell me I am not alone.

For reasons I cannot say
      I know that I am you -
that you are me.

The beauty on your face
     tells me you know it too
and like you, I smile.

*© 2016 by Robert Charles Howard
I'm rain
but not the kind of rain
people drink coffee and stare at
from studio apartment windows
and under pretty white gazebos ,

I'm rain
but not the kind of rain
that falls soft at first,
and then harder,
and then soft again,

I'm rain
but not the kind of rain
that smells sweet
and makes flowers grow
in the spring time,

I'm rain
but not the kind of rain
that collects in pretty puddles
in the pavement
so that toddlers in rubber boots
can jump in and splash
their parents,

I'm rain
but not the kind of rain
that lulls crying teenagers
to sleep in their warm beds
or makes lovers miss one an other,

I'm rain
but not the kind of rain
people watch and listen to
with gentle acceptance,

I'm the kind of rain
that falls fast and hard,

the kind of rain that is cold
and hurts sun burnt shoulders
when it hits them,

the kind of rain that washes
pretty chalk paintings off of
drive ways in suburbs
without a second thought,

the kind of rain that
seeps through ceiling tiles
turning cozy little homes into
chaotic whirlwinds of
anxiety and destruction,

the kind of rain that
makes your joints ache
and your eyes red,

the kind of rain that
gets the kids out of the pool
and sprinting inside,
cold, wet, and uncomfortable,

the kind of rain that
washes leafs into
your gutters,

you curse it all week long,

the kind of rain that
only wanted to touch the earth,

to feel some semblance of warmth,

but the kind of rain that
doesn't know how to
leave the thunder at home,

the kind of rain who
breaks the things
it loves,
no matter how
hard it tries to be
gentle...
In a land the others
Don't see,

Sits you and me
By the willow tree
.
Amid the birds,

Me and you
In a sea of shining dew
She
She was a form of art,
for him that would be true;
hung in places like his heart,
so all could see and view.

She was like no other,
for him she's all that mattered,
her beauty too precious to cover
and hide; to flaunt, she'd rather.

She was his favorite color,
for him, a vibrant yellow hue,
an orange, a blue, and more;
that's what he loved for sure.

She was his favorite song,
for him a sweet singsong tune,
where his world could be forever long;
enticing was her rune.

Sadly, that was what all she was
for him, she cannot be with,
a love that's never meant to last—
a poisonous bitter seed.

————————-————————

*"You loved me, right?" She asked him.

"That's all I ever did."
Happy World Poetry Day.
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