"torrential" poems
Sunshine comes in many forms.
- - - - - -
That which comes up in the morning
and goes down at night.
And little girls who
are Grandma's De-light.
- - - - - -
She rises in the morning
sometimes cloudy,
sometimes bright,
but always Grandma's De-light.
- - - - - -
Sometimes she rains tears
torrential they may pour
but comforted by the voice
of the One who loves her so.
- - - - - -
Sometimes she shines bright
the warmth of hugs and smiles.
Love overflowing in the heart,
it's all Grandma's De-light.
- - - - - -
Love is forever and always
whether its stormy or bright.
Love covers all situations
For all is Grandma's De-light.
- - - - - -
Sunshine's Eyes and Smiles
Light up the world around her.
Creating more smiles in their eyes
when first they did find her
- - - - - -
When Grandma's day is gloomy
Sunshine arrives with much to say
with happy stories, hugs and smiles
to brighten up the cloudiest day.
- - - - - -
When Sunshine goes to bed
it usually can be said
Sunshine's eyes cease to gleam
when energy's gone, time to dream.
- - - - - -
Eyes close and all is well
in Sunshine Land I do tell.
Grandma's De-light in peaceful sleep
The day is over, it will keep.
- - - - - -
She is after all
Grandma's Sunshine.
11-01-2014 (c)
John Stevens
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
It’s raining,
And I wish you were here.
Because, and I know it’s cliché,
But I’m falling a lot harder
Than this rain, and dear,
It’s torrential here.
But these sheets of rain
Remind me of the sheets we share,
And I’d just as quickly
Wrap myself up in them
If I thought you were in there, too.
It’s 101° there.
But here it’s raining.
And I miss you.
Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 11:48 PM UTC
Jealousy
If I could be but a burning sun,
I'd scorch you with my wrath.
All your labour and all you loved
Would sizzle in my heat,
And turn into steam.
What I can't have,
Why should I let you keep?
If I was but an ocean blue,
I'd envelope you in my foam.
Grain by grain I'd wash away
The foundation of your home,
Claiming it for my own.
I need to breach your comfort
So I can have mine.
I need to pour onto you
Like torrential rain.
I need to chill you to the bone,
Like some haunted wind.
For you cannot, should not
Have that which I cannot reach.
You snatched it from under my nose,
And it kept screaming my name,
But you muffled its voice.
Your cruelty knows no end,
So now you'll taste mine
And I promise the pain won't fade.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
Do you remember what you said that day
How terrible you felt inside
When all those clouds of disappointment
Blew into your lovely skies
Your life could not get any worse
To yourself you sadly said
Because your glorious sun no longer shone
While lightning crashed ahead
Your teardrops fell like rain that day
Unnoticed in the downpour
Torrential streams from the blackest skies
One had ever seen before
One day your sun returned to shine again
Winds of disappointment changed
Your flowing tears glowed into a radiant smile
As your life’s direction rearranged
Now here you stand, downcast once again
Black cloudy skies moving in
Never give up looking for that sun of yours
To shine through those clouds again
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 7:13 PM UTC
A melancholy ***** we came to adore
in mournful tone, finish the tale abruptly
and sob, uncontrollably;
"Memories of my melancholy ******
including "Love in the times of cholera"
are now part of our folklore, this land
of cashew groves and banana plantations
in Indian landscape, far far away from Latin American shores.
Her lascivious days are over
death visits the house of love, blood splattered
and a haunt of dark happenings, that begets children with tails,
shame, honor and secrets creep out of manuscripts.
Gabo is no more, no more"Living to tell the tale"
the Part Two, promised before.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez, after three false starts
goes to his final abode for rest, now.
A coded manuscript, written in
in classical Sanskrit,
(the language of all divine texts
of Indian sages of yore)
scripted by the mysterious gypsy,Melquiades
predicts the wipe out of Buendia clan
of five generations
Torrential rain and deluge engulf Macondo,
ends "One hundred years of solitude".
Gabo you point towards east
what is the answer to the conundrum of Buendias?
In Mexico city
they were preparing to take Gabo to his last ride
to the origin of all magical realism he'd return
In a land far away,
yet exactly the same landscape as Latin Americas
we grieve his death as that of one of our own
Gabo, in past thirty years, you mysteriously taught us
to discern the magical realism of cosmos
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
I want to board the train to nowhere
Two parallel track never to meet
Through verdant landscapes
And long dark tunnels through mountains
Through the morning dew
And torrential rains
Between deep woods and loneliness
Let the train travel till eternity
Filled with passengers who does not know time
Winding through the trails of nowhere
This train journey will be on tracks for eternity
Crossing breathtaking bridges
Looking at the dangerous abyss makes us dizzy
Train continues with the journey
Sitting by the window, landscapes scrape by
This train to nowhere, is the ultimate journey
We are all passengers traversing various lands
Two parallel track never to meet
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
Off the train I hit the streets
and start laughing. This is ridiculous,
incomprehensible. How can innumerable bipeds
have individual inner lives. Why are they doing
what they’re doing? I have no answer
New York City but to also go about my business
in this case prepare for surgery, survival.
But why survive with so many exact replicas
to replace me? A swarm of ants or hive of bees,
social organisms they’re called, climbing
over each other, avoiding bumping and amazingly
making way, anticipating the sudden turns
and straight paths of others, strangers but brothers,
sisters incubating, the cells of a small
***** nodes of a single semi-conscious organism.
The concept of a higher power that cares
for me is also risible yet how else
can I explain the surgeon and his team,
robots and magnetic resonance imaging machines,
all primed and trained to save my life.
They are not particularly interested in what
I do with my time. I am immediately
in love with the Irish brogue of the head nurse,
the Indian skin of the physician’s assistant.
The long extraordinarily thin
fingers of the famous surgeon. All
mine to savor (and the other cancer patients).
Despair, lose all hope
that’s what the sign says at the gates of hell
and at the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center the sign says
Be kind to our customers who are waiting and suffering.
Yesterday’s suicidal thoughts: the mind
is a clever servant, insufferable master. Therefore,
meditate on this: absolute need, dependence on the Other.
I still like Hombre, The Shootist and Ulzana’s Raid
but realize those dead heroes
were subordinate to society: the gun manufacturers who armed them.
Thus, I go for cancer tests, accepting, not predicting results.
Hero accepting help.
A torrential rain following five days of flooding,
tornadoes out west busting up wooden towns
all because too many of us are hoarding plastic, herding electrons.
None of us know how it will end, what the outcome will be
(of our surgery). The best that can be said
is Don’t forget to breathe. And you might
as well believe in that higher power.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 6:00 AM UTC
I want to write you a trilogy on the stages
in which our relationship formed.
The first book would be solely based on the day
that I stopped treating your text messages
like active landmines. Stopped tiptoeing.
No longer being afraid of what your affection
would do to me once I submit to it.
It would be based on the first step I took to
stop being so **** afraid. From that very day
you've helped me in ways I'll never be able to fully explain.
Helped me let go of fear and trepidation, and open
my heart to the greatest thing in the world; your love.
The second would revolve around the first time you kissed me.
I don't know if you noticed, but my knees buckled
like seatbelts and I shook like glass window panes in torrential rain.
That day you awoke something inside me that I didn't know existed
but I'm so glad you found it. Like a stray kitten I was lost
and you brought me back home without questioning where I'd been,
and I'll never fully understand why, but I guess it doesn't matter.
You've taught me not to overthink things, to just revel in the moment.
The third would be set in here and now. Every forehead kiss
and stolen glance sums up to another page, every loving gesture
is another chapter. We are creating something people wish they
could create for themselves. A love that belongs in museums
to teach the world what it really means to give yourself to someone,
with no fear, and not a single ounce of regret. To say that you changed
my life is an understatement. You altered my way of thinking.
Took a broken thing and made it new again. Made me, new again.
And with every word that slips from your lips I am reborn.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 11:25 PM UTC
the only way that he could say bye
buying a red rose and watching it die
dying to find some other way
weighing his options to live another day
he couldn't help but to feel like a heel
healing was hard and the pain was real
reality soaked him like torrential rains
reigning over his will to remain
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 7:26 PM UTC
It's as if a storm blew in, torrential rains, metal bending winds and standing in the eye was you.
Waves crashing. People locked up for days, hours, as time danced around -- the clocked stopped ticking.
A foolish venture to see the cause of such array. To see. To touch. To feel. Your sight penetrating through the clouds, ripping apart my seams. You watch as I came undone; undone by the velvet in your eyes, the bend in your smile. I twirl as I am stripped clean in your eyes. You see every scrape, scar, bruise and every moment I have tried to sew back together. Your touch burns my flesh. Sear into me a moment I cannot forget, a moment I grasp for in the darkness when I am all alone.
It's as if I can feel your fingerprint on my heart with every beat. As I stumble towards you, exposed and raw --- you absorb me. Absorb my pain, struggles, my darkness. You hold me so tightly it's as if when you breathe, I breathe the same breath.
Your embrace calms the storm. Calms the rush of thoughts, fears, worries and emotions. As I look up into your eyes, you see my future. My happiness. My vision of happily ever after -- holding hands in the sunset, in the rain, in the snow. As the winds die down, as the rain lets up, as the oceans settle -- I see you clearly. I feel your heartbeat. I know I am right where I should be. The eye of you.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
"lie still and let it wash over you, the was and is and soon to be.
How frightening yet effervescent the next 24 hours. The lust, and musts of future days revert to the ancient past..."
patty m.
><
the irony!
when I am stilled,
the effervescence of me
unbounded, unleashed, and the torrential rain
of words fulfilling and departing from my interior
I am
a Grand Central Station
of trains labelled
"the was and is and soon to be''
all moving in an unscheduled mayhem,
but never crashing. never accidenting,
only accenting my racing against time,
my oldest and fiercest Super Villian,
and one just knows, never can you beat time,
time, that old rascally up his sleeve card magician,
who when shuffling the deck,
he knows
what was,
what is,
and here his red eyes gleam with satisfaction,
soon to be...
He and I,
old familiar adversaries
addicted to living.
never leave the table,
never leave a *** or
a poem on the felt,
and having always felt,
firm believed,
there will always be one more,
one more gamble, another day,
to write another poem
and turning my cards over
to reveal, to revel,
in my Royal Flush of creativity,
when time, smiling face,
with his
wild card,
**** time,
who trumps me for
it,
in possess of a Five-of-a-Kind(1)
~'
and the new players,
the young poets,
slap me on the back,
saying I had a great run,
but they don't know 'bout my
secret stash,
preprogrammed to appear,
long after these fingers
cease their tangled tango of tap dancing,
my dust,
my lusts and musts
will unstilled yet be
blowing, floating in the
soon to be
so ha!
nml
6:30am
Wed Sep 10
Twenty Twenty Five
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 8:42 AM UTC
Droplets tap the dusty windows
Tipping pleasure on the pane
Dribbles every time the wind blows
Prophesize a hurricane
Kisses linger on the backseat
Desperate to delight in more
Suffocated by the heat, but
When it rains, it starts to pour
Panic storm that quickly closes
Smashing waves upon the sand
Tension tearing up the roses
Stuttered poems, shaking hands
Though the pressure keeps you floating
And the ocean licks its shore
There's no way of sugarcoating
Once it rains, it has to pour
Stick a finger in your ceiling
Let the plants hang onto youth
Sunday jazz, petrichor feeling
Hear it tripping on the roof
Smell it shifting all around you
Leaking through your drying veins
Leave your stagnant dragonfly blue
Open up into the rain
When it rains, it pours
I'll blossom being yours
Downpour cleans the ***** traffic
Rippling madly down the drain
Paints the artist something graphic
While he's waiting for the train
Laughter echoes in the morning
Licking soil and clouds to raw
From the vision that's been dawning
Once you rain, it has to pour
Spitting bombshells pelt your raincoat
Tears in quiet pools of green
Holes inside your getaway boat
Water's sweet but can be mean
You've avoided all the warfare
But the stars rampage for more
Douse the thin comfort you still wear
Once it rains, it starts to pour
Stick a finger in your ceiling
Give the plants a thirsty truth
Fairy lights and freedom feeling
Tunes of our torrential youth
Smell it changing all around you
Bursting through the shrivelled veins
Leave your crippled summertime hue
Open up into the rain
When it rains, it pours,
I'll bloom so much being yours
We're a perfect storm, I guess
Fire has been stopped with less
When it rains it has to pour.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
the only way that he could say bye
buying a red rose and watching it die
dying to find some other way
weighing his options to live another day
he couldn't help but to feel like a heel
healing was hard and the pain was real
reality soaked him like torrential rains
reigning over his will to remain
(I am trying to get back to following the ones who follow me, or take interest in my writing. The best way to **** out" was to unfollow all, and then look at the list of my followers. I hate to be that way, but i also hate to see the ones who unfollwed me on my "home" page. Please bear with me, because it will only allow me to follow so many people a day apparently.)
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 1:19 PM UTC
Onam Reminds
Onam reminds me of the venomous mind
That overthrew a just ,kind king ,unkind
Aryan imperialism subjugating the Dravid
The white over the black , dark apartheid
Justice of the black is unjust for the white
A matter of jealousy, dissatisfaction and fight.
For the British, Indians were raw to be refined
As Allopaths frown upon Ayurvedics as bad.
But, what is the truth? think of the covered past
Weigh evidences: from history, literature and art
Of all non-whites; really, they were and are super
In many respects, hence, awake from your stupor.
India shall not be a kite of any ruler outside
No race is Blessed to override anyone beside;
Almighty considers all equals - by their deeds
It is That, that fosters all by weighing our deeds.
When greed of man rudely jeopardizes the Nature
Nature jeopardizes human life, making a fracture.
Torrential rain or draught is a positive measure
Applied by It on earth (as earth-quake) to treasure.
Man like Vamana tries to grow and measure the earth
Other planets ,heaven or hell to exploit Nature’s wealth
As Jehovah ,the Almighty, Brahma, or Allah, the Cause
Of that Pulsation is everywhere, beware man! and pause!
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
Serendipities torrential deluge
Of dulcet applause reigning
In the divine dynasty of
Empiricisms arcane lore,
Heavens most high of heirachies
Beyond the veil
Drowning in altruistic
Reflexive salutations;
The regnant patent mutitioning
Of the waters Lethe from
Serpens poisened chalice of saints
Evoking the advent vigil of
Dusts chaldean dreams,
The sabbatical ordination
The fatal ravens annunciation
Heralding valediction
Convening betwixt and between
Gates of ivory and horn
Arraigning the apostolic conclave.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 9:35 AM UTC
There are 1,013,913 words in the English language, and not one of them describes how I feel about you, about us.
I used to say you were my strawberry jam, my little preserve that I would lay and spread on the table each morning, and I would lick my lips and say 'my God isn't she magnificent'.
I was your hero, your savior, your Christ that you had at Sundays Eucharist, and thank God you did. You dissolved in my mouth like that little piece of bread called a body but you tasted of everything instead of nothing, and **** me for thinking of you instead of God, thinking of you as my altar as I said 'hail Mary' and I worshiped you like a school girl with an orange full of candles in her hand, and for that God will **** me. He will **** me to hell but I don't care as the Universe lives under your tongue and everything I had ever dreamed of was right there in the right hand corner of your mouth.
You were my Wendy, darling. You stuck a thimble on my heart and said now you can never hurt me. But you did. We did. And the never of Neverland drifted away like a ship sinking into the sky, enveloped by darkness, smothered by a torrential rain of tears that washed away your fears that we were perfect, as there's no such thing as perfect when you can see your heart in the mirror with a target fixed to its center,
There are no words to describe how I feel about us. I still lift up my shirt and see your name inscribed on my chest, I still wake up and transcribe the words you wrote on my breast. I still touch myself up and think of you bribing me to undress. I still think about us.
If I could re-write my world to involve you in it I would. I would leave a piece of the jigsaw for you to carry around in your pocket so you knew you always fit in the world some where. I would make the sun rise each day through your window so you knew that life was worth living, that life was worth living when you were so what I am saying is I am forgiving. I am forgiving those days you swore at my reflection, and that day I slept on the sofa till three in the morning chain smoking till I was choking, remember? You said 'what are you doing' and I said I was in a smoke straight jacket and I was dying. You went back up to bed and I started crying. I am forgiving myself of those days I lay in bed just sighing. I am forgiving us for not trying.
But most of all, most of all, I am forgiving us for lying.
There are not enough words in the English language that can say I'm sorry like I am.
Or that I want you to move on. But I don't want you to move on.
Or that I want you happy. Because I want you happy.
I want you happy.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 8:50 AM UTC
Torrential downpour-
Dry, morose, barren buildings;
solitary tree.
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 11:29 AM UTC
Crushed to death
under falling leaves
Drowned
by torrential rain
scorched by sun,
and fades away,
and never speaks again
the sober simply sickening
sapping all my electricity
the waking under midday light’s
reflecting off the mirror tiles
I placed this all beneath me but
it always ******* backfires
Crushed
under a thousand falling leaves
Drowned
by a million drops of acid rain
scorched by the sun
and fades away,
and never ever speaks again
Shining black, incandescent
watermarks that line the present
and presently I can perceive
a personage, just above me
It speaks nonstop and slowly
and never ever ******* leaves
Crushed
under a thousand falling leaves
Drowned
by a million drops of acid rain
scorched by the sun
and fades away,
and never ever speaks again
crushed to death
and fades away
autumn leaves became a grave
drowned by rain
never speaks again
the undertow of passing waves
the autumn leaves became a grave
the undertow of passing waves.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
Lavender words written on perfect lined paper
I wrote you a letter; I’ll save it for later
Lavender tongues speak colorful phrases
I wrote you a sonnet; it only took ages
Lavender words penned in purple glow’d ink
I read you a book, it did make me think
Lavender songs turned clandestine quickly
I read you a poem, you listened with me
Lavender skies turn purple at night
I looked up and saw them; the world was alight
Lavender clouds unleash torrential showers
But here in the woods we’ll hide out for hours
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 9:05 PM UTC
a future promise
a hard on like bundled gym socks
in stuffed blue jeans
a future threat
a shriveled phallus wrinkled obsolete
she remembered fondly
being beaten drum chatter
and seized like slow roasted
fall off the bone pulled pork
****** raggedy Ann
catapulted beyond Euboean heavens
ravaging scrotums Gordian ******
with her wild fiendish mouth
drinking a river of
haloed golden showers
spit and ****
in a runaway hot house of glistening pink
buttery spires
engorging her macerated orifices
half eaten radish
chocking on hordes
of big do do *****
a ****** face; cross eyed
Babylon abalone
bashed Ashly mashed
begging for
a face full of swinging *****
like caped chandeliers
trotting faint giggles
in a constellation
of ruptured arteries
and thick sparked ****
on her knees
milk glitter faced
scared with happiness
she counted one smiling bruise at a time
her badge of calamities
black and blue silhouettes
grinning invitations like party favors
without a crease of shame
her skin rapturous
spackled patchworks
bled like torrential fountains summer tide
while every body had fizzy red ice phlebotomies
and steamed through her drooling tumble pie
lust ***** totem
house of winding labyrinths
honey pumped transfusion
flush on blush
opera of tangled limbs
red pulse wedding flowers
slick ***** palace
blood tongued orchard
caressing knotted mooned
**** spill
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 2:22 PM UTC
we've been playing for months, yet
i am no longer the master of my own game.
i sit and wonder, "how did i get here?"
without ever truly questioning myself.
simply because i knew.
it is as though I am currently without a name.
considerably since "This" is no longer Me.
who I am, who That is,
I am no longer certain.
I have simply become a replica of Its impression on Self.
"tick tock, tick, tock."
the arrogance of time refuses to stop,
and "now" becomes a fleeting "then"
as My life slips through "Her"
into a dazed, drunken phase.
time only lingers in the present
for those who are truly Present.
Her time is lost, so what is My time
when the days blur together?
"Her" memory sanitized and wiped cleaned.
***** cleans wounds, right?
Dissociation to self, the insouciant desire to care.
an erratic, chaotic, tumultuous torrential downpour.
I'm theatrical sure, but passionately so.
"Passion," i'll drink to that.
"Pain" has me pouring another,
and another.
"Reward me," and we'll cheers to the clear liquid that
warms my throat with each increasing gulp.
"Relax." you worked hard, take one or two.
Six deep, Seven's the magic number,
plus, what's one more?
yet one will never be enough. "sleep or shoot."
don't forget to swallow.
you know you love it.
stop saying no when You can say "yes,"
and stop holding back, when I'm telling You "NO."
stop fighting...
...succumb to the misery.
besides, just one pour will make it all better.
Feb 1, 2022
Feb 1, 2022 at 2:23 AM UTC
I wasn’t the one for you, and at first it hurt. But I’ve come to terms with the fact the stars weren’t aligned for us, and that’s OK. It took me a while to get to this point of content and there are things I want you to know:
I realize I wanted things I couldn’t have.
I wanted late mornings and nights in your embrace, I wanted to go on drives with you, and to laugh with you because I love seeing you smile. I wanted to give myself to you, to tell you how guarded I am and then let you in because I wanted you to be able to see a part of me that no one else does. I wanted to know more about your childhood and how you grew up to be who you are. I wanted to know your goals and aspirations, your personal heroes, and most importantly, I wanted to be yours. I wanted it so badly, but you didn’t choose me.
You missed out.
I could have given you everything and more. You didn’t even give me a chance, which if you did you would find I hate the feeling of velvet and that I’m the most claustrophobic person in the world. I publicly embarrass myself on the regular. I love to sing in the shower, I would dance with you in a torrential downpour because I'm a hopeless romantic, and that I have the ability to eat a pint of mint chocolate chip ice-cream without shame. I am who I am--no excuses, and I know you appreciate real people. If I learned anything about you… I did learn that. You would never have to question my loyalty to you, but I guess now you never will.
But, most importantly:
Thank you for not choosing me
I never thought I’d say these words, but thank you for breaking my heart and not choosing me. I realize that, because of you not choosing me, it’s going to be amazing when I’m someone else’s first choice.
One day, someone is going to feel for me the way I felt for you and you’ll be nothing more than a distant memory.
Thank you for coming into my life and making me realize that I am as strong and independent as I hoped I could be. For that, you taught me to choose myself, and I’ll continue to do that until someone comes around and makes me realize why it didn’t work out with you.
All this time I asked myself “what is wrong with me?” and I realized that it has nothing to do with that. I wasn’t what you wanted, and that’s fine. You made me realize that I am going to be the perfect fit for someone else, and that someone is going to come along and choose me without thinking twice.
And just so you know, I didn’t necessarily choose you either — my heart did
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 12:49 AM UTC
Particles collate, clouds gather
An uprising it seems, stronger together
Resolute it stands, till it holds no further
As any body collapses, under mounting pressure
Little drops to torrential downpour
The inconvenience it brings, just what we abhor
Struggle we must with virtuous patience
If we are to enjoy befallen petrichor
Trees are fed, flowers bloom
From this garden, brilliance loom
As all things present, this too is transient
A reality so poignant, about an existence impermanent
Leaves frail, flowers wither
Consumed by soil from which it consumed
No such thing as eternal bliss
Such are the laws of our symbiosis
We arrive from dust and depart as stench
A reality from which, we shouldn't flinch
As we gaze into a horizon so eternal
All we have, are moments so ephemeral
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 7:35 AM UTC
Look up and breathe it all in
The sky is crying, exploding
with a torrential waterfall.
Inhale natures’ showering
an unblemished symphony
The black cloud’s unavowed weight
lingers invigoratingly overhead
Emotions ebb and flow
with the moment’s
immanent spirit of light;
there is a liberating sensation
that excites anticipation
of the sky’s impending
purposefully fated release ...
Heavens… flood down holy water
in a drenching act of baptism
a merciful drowning in a river
of celestial tears
Dowsing rains wash over
in a cleansing rain
Refresh the dust and ashes
the fallow summer leavings
What once was a blossoming presence,
evolving into a dimming
cold winter reign...
Now all that remains is but
a shadow of what once was;
hearts and bones nearly eroded away
by the years of fallen tears
To rinse away unrequited love’s
stagnant inversion, washing away
the invisible bonds that bind
to the loathsome heavy ball
of an unforgiving chain ...
Know the cleansing rain
is the spirit of love, washing over
a malnourished heart of soul;
exposed and bared naked
to a remiss world
Looking out with thoughtful eyes
into the boundless universe
Never to stop believing
rejuvenating dreams course beyond
this long road
Imagine the storm clouds
parting in the ominous
threatening sky
as an uplifting awakening light
comes shining through;
renewing the promise
that surrendering to love
shall renew purpose
and it feels like rain...
baby can you feel it (?)
December 2012 © harlon rivers ... all rights reserved .
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 7:24 PM UTC