This rain keeps falling
As dry as a drought.
“ Rain drops heavier than water,
When it’s laden with doubt. ”
He said, " The ground simply can’t hold it
… So it must go without.”
This rain keeps to itself; lets no one inside -
No one to know why the ground stays so dry.
For it comes from a place where souls idly drift by -
And the same forces that create are constantly defied.
He said, “ You’ve never known water to stain,
But you’ve never felt this kind of rain.
It’s thicker than your skin.
It stains your clothes and what’s within.
It sounds like hammers as it pounds -
And yet, the ground won’t let it in.
So it flows like a river that only gets bigger;
It runs like a force that knows no remorse.
Despite endless efforts to stop it -
It still runs like a faucet…
With nowhere to drain. "
But if the ground holds no plants, is the water so vital?
Is the rain’s sole purpose this lifeless recital?
The ground stays so strong.
It holds fast, like pure stone
But can one stay so long when one’s so alone?
When one is forced to move,
Will the ground or the rain?
And when the first one has gone,
Will the other remain?
For now, they coexist,
Each facing a challenge it can’t resist -
Both unstoppable and immovable,
They hopelessly persist.
As compliments, they combine
With the product of a flood.
But the water that’s collecting
Has the consistency of blood.
There’s a heart behind this water.
It pulses instead of flowing.
So you turn to the only man you know,
for parting words with danger growing.
And he says, as you leave,
“ I wish you luck where you are going.
You’ve only seen the rain . . .
The winds are not yet blowing. ”