falling from a Sunday sky.
The rain is a river
running through the
valley of your memory.
It is the pulse at
the corner of your eye,
the mist rising from the
earth at midnight
at Canaan Downs, the
dancers with their
hands in the air.
The rain carries with
it no motive or
malice. It simply
falls and does not
mind where or on
whom it lands.
You are the rain,
lying on your bed
with its sheets warm
from the moist
pores of you body.
Go, spread floods over
waiting seeds in the
fields of your life.
3 comments:
Hi, I haven't stopped by for ages but I'm glad I did. I enjoyed your poem about Rain and got to learn about the NaPoWriMo which looks like fun.
*Love* this one!
and thanks for the last poem. i was smiling as i read it and thinking about all the wonderful conversations we've had, some we haven't, and some we are yet to have ourselves.
sending you love across the oceans
xx
wow...'you are the rain'...'go spread floods over waiting seeds in the fields of your life'...profound, and very positive in tone. it's uplifting.
Post a Comment