Sometimes the rain falls
as if its penning poetry
to the rhythm of its own music;
a sonic tune of the liquid tapestry.
Cleft from a sky immersed
in the scene of a tragedy.
It's torn,
the pitter-patter;
a solemn dance
for all humanity.
An ancient jig this fluid frolic
never tiring of its endless cycle
vesting and revisiting this terra firma
like a lover emasculating the earth
of its desert state,
or adding to its oceans
in a bid to be free.
But you’re here again, I’ve noticed
for even through windows
your music plays a clamorous
and a rather brazen beat.
Take my hand, why don’t you?
Come.
Dance with me.
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 1:15 PM UTC
Sometimes the rain falls
as if its penning poetry
to the rhythm of its own music;
a sonic tune of the liquid tapestry.
Cleft from a sky immersed
in the scene of a tragedy.
It's torn,
the pitter-patter;
a solemn dance
for all humanity.
An ancient jig this fluid frolic
never tiring of its endless cycle
vesting and revisiting this terra firma
like a lover emasculating the earth
of its desert state,
or adding to its oceans
in a bid to be free.
But you’re here again, I’ve noticed
for even through windows
your music plays a clamorous
and a rather brazen beat.
Take my hand, why don’t you?
Come.
Dance with me.
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