Petrichor

Drops of rain begin welling up Water particles suspended at a considerable altitude Lighting crashes and my thoughts get loud A black nimbus cloud with a splatter of gray matter My voice is the thunder, and I project it Indiscriminately “Who wants some rain to quench their thirst?” 'Who wants a drop of rain on their tongue?” The heat from the day will set me free “Pale faces, gather your buckets!” Hairs on arms slant upward in anticipation of my arrival I soak the souls that are owed alleviation With the wind as my catalyst, I cannot be stopped Drops are formed as particles are spun The first drip I cut loose falls free from fear Of its lonely existence in the atmosphere Petrichor is the scent produced when rain creates steam Petrichor is the fluid that flows through the veins of God Those who seek for the simplicity in minuscule things Shall cherish the visits a drop of rain brings