The Rain

Rain, like angry teardrops, forges rivulets down the window pane while threatening gray clouds thunder above, fat with their delivery Flickering power dances with the lightning in a contest of shadows as heavy pressure and dampness seep into the marrow of my fragile frame Frantic winds change the relentless direction of the deluge as miniature rivers form, washing away the residue of the atmosphere before the storm Darkness comes, and the bitter intensity becomes palpable Weary windows shudder in their frames as whispering howls sneak through timeworn crevices Daunting years of collective conscience suggest a safe place to hide, as all of the percipient creatures on the other side of the pane have already attained But, numbed by the continuous oblivious walk of humanity, I stay Even though leaning against the moaning glass is not safe, I stay …..to watch the rain.