"vison" poems - Hello Poetry

I think, Lorraine, it was the rain gently pattering upon my pane creating rhythm in my sleeping brain encouraging chaos bordering insane I blamed it ,Lorraine, on the falling rain. A vison arose of a windswept plain saddleless riders in the north of Spain granting a stranger a sultry dame standing in the pouring rain… I think, Lorraine, it was the rain. Her eyes expressed complete distain looking at fools pretending to reign over lands with dragons left un-slain me, I could only sit and complain I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain. I heard a ghost howl in pain bitten by a rabid Dane fleeting images of regret and shame flashed across my face again… I think, Lorraine, it was the rain. I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain the day you told me I was your bane you wished to see me die alone in pain with nothing but the falling rain…. I think, Lorraine, it was the rain. Like the blackest tar running through my vein the three a.m. creature threw me on a plane sent me sailing down the next of a Crane U-turn careening into the oncoming lane I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain. When at last our eyes met her dusty mane created an aura I can’t explain but enveloped the world in love without shame giving the people joy without pain I think, Lorraine, it was the rain. I think, Lorraine, it was the rain which fed the stranger on the train looking to rob the Spanish Main a thought I considered to be to framed… I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain. Left in the twilight listening without restrain these visions creep into my insomniac brain as drip after drip crash upon my pane I think, Lorraine, it was the rain… I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain.

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Aug 29, 2015

Aug 29, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC

s-lyman-temple

The Rain on my Pane

I think, Lorraine, it was the rain gently pattering upon my pane creating rhythm in my sleeping brain encouraging chaos bordering insane I blamed it ,Lorraine, on the falling rain. A vison arose of a windswept plain saddleless riders in the north of Spain granting a stranger a sultry dame standing in the pouring rain… I think, Lorraine, it was the rain. Her eyes expressed complete distain looking at fools pretending to reign over lands with dragons left un-slain me, I could only sit and complain I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain. I heard a ghost howl in pain bitten by a rabid Dane fleeting images of regret and shame flashed across my face again… I think, Lorraine, it was the rain. I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain the day you told me I was your bane you wished to see me die alone in pain with nothing but the falling rain…. I think, Lorraine, it was the rain. Like the blackest tar running through my vein the three a.m. creature threw me on a plane sent me sailing down the next of a Crane U-turn careening into the oncoming lane I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain. When at last our eyes met her dusty mane created an aura I can’t explain but enveloped the world in love without shame giving the people joy without pain I think, Lorraine, it was the rain. I think, Lorraine, it was the rain which fed the stranger on the train looking to rob the Spanish Main a thought I considered to be to framed… I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain. Left in the twilight listening without restrain these visions creep into my insomniac brain as drip after drip crash upon my pane I think, Lorraine, it was the rain… I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain.