Individual
Drops of rain syringe the tips
Of long pine needles.

The city is dead
Like thunder shouting into
The infinite blue.

I wish I could quit thinking about norms,
There’s a rainbow after all storms.
The ones in our minds too I guess,
I just wish I would think about this less.

Because really, everything is unfair,
So who cares about my short hair?
And of course it’ll grow back,
Yet it forever leaves a crack.

A crack in my heart and my head,
I can’t even believe what I’ve said.
They want the hair to be long,
All I feel is just, that this is wrong.

I want the red not the blue key,
I don’t think that’s hard to see.
So it won’t be cut once again,
But will that be the rainbow or the rain?

'Cause I shall look in the mirror,
That won’t make anything clearer.
And I will feel sad looking there,
My hair will be too long to bear.

I will look at photos of me now,
I’ll probably wonder why and how.
Might say that it was a mistake,
They’ll never see if it’s true or fake.

And when it starts raining,
you know it will not stop any time soon.
It grabs you, the feeling
of being alive -  but how long for?
A second, a minute, a day,
a week, a month, or a year?
The tide will turn, you will change.
The raindrops will dance in the puddles,
like nothing else has ever mattered.

And when it starts raining,
you know it is time to say good bye
to the places you have visited
and to the all things that have kept you alive.
And even now, it feels like
it is a beautiful day.
For what does it mean to be alive,
anyway?

Red-brown pine trunk,
With severed branches,
Greedily soaks up the streams
Heavenly waters.

I wake,

To Heaven’s tears

Dripping down...

Their gentle potter-patter

Kiss the earth--

God’s promises:

To make,

All things new again;

Right.

A tiny beetle
Shimmering in the sun
All the colors of the rainbow.
Like benzine spilled in the rain.

The map unfurls,
irrelevant.
Any point touched by your light
becomes the center.

Late nights breathe,
under a sky dusted with stars,
and the pull,
irresistible,
of a gaze that anchors me.

Let them watch,
the curious eyes,
the fleeting judgments.
Within your orbit,
I am home.

No gilded cage,
no borrowed glamour,
just the quiet hum
of two souls entwined,
making the mundane shimmer.

Absence,
a hollow echo.
The world muted,
awaiting the vibrant hue
of your return.

Moonlight spills,
a silent invitation
to a space where only
tenderness resides,
painting moments eternal.

Each shared step,
a soft rhythm against the quiet,
anywhere, everywhere,
soaked in the indelible rain
of this boundless affection.