Il Pleut

Il Pleut It rains torrentially after long drought and disorder; it rains drenching the empathetic scraggy soil of the heart it rains moistening the rocks of anger crags of revenge and cracks of depravity it rains covering the jealous holes with purity healing the undesirable crevices of the being it pours incessantly to cover and clean the gaps of deceptive caves of life it rains inside me constantly stretching the cramped limbs softening the being; it skits with a susurrus leading me to the lee when all on a sudden something goes wrong influenced by someone’s lewd smile or a serein’s half-hearted dampening. Rain of grace falls and falls to soothe my ruffled feelings; it corrects, it helps, it leads me always to the right way. When it rains in the forest of my being where the tallest trees touch the sky and the moon shines bright on the leaves through the gnarled branches lighting the dark parts of existence, life becomes wholesome peaceful and serene. Removing the dryness and darkness of life rain of grace falls and falls perpetually to revive.