the rain is
nostalgic
romantic, and
pretty
like a sad muze,
the best day for poetry to spring, and
breathe fresh air,
somehow,
we,
people, besides whining and complaining about the ugly weather, still get quieter without noticing
that rain, like a peacemaker, is trying hard to make us stop and surrender to life as everything around us
does
make peace on earth as the sky is crying

Like the night that flows in arrows
And the raven that flies in skies
She comes to me in a chaise
Pulled by the great white wolf

Aimee, my love, you are
the door between pleasure and pain
You fold me in shawl of lies
And stab my heart with truth

You came here like a salamander from the fire
Your siblings are **** and Nyx,
Melt in my arms like dew on leaves
Whisper and say you'll never leave


But the archer killed the raven
And wolf barks outside, in forest,
You have to go, you kiss my neck,
Send me to sleep, although
You know I'll wake up crying

Your hair is unseen in night
The eyes are tears of fire
Your skin is made from brightest stars
And you're dressed with moonrays