The rain pours, and beats the ground,
like when our feet beat the concrete,
and we stumble around,
without a sense of guidance,
the sirens in the distance alert,
and break the calm night silence,
we had nowhere to be,
but we found a place,
an overgrown garden to write poems,
and appreciate the candles warm embrace,
and the moon's glow,
watch the city life below, from the roof top sights,
while the intoxicated stagger,
under the street lights,
where's the message in the bottle they were looking for?
to show them a way,
"oh well, we'll try again tomorrow night"
out front the liquor store,
on a rainy Sunday,