The Rain

Comes and it goes, sometimes more than other times when you don’t want it to be there for you and it seems you‘re never destined to cover the possessions you don’t need to but you go through so much pain just to remain innately insane. Today I thought I saw the zenith of my dreams, foolish me, as if the blind man can attain visions of evaporated rain shaped like raceme still stained on my window left from morning’s tears. Life hangs heavy on this half-lit horizon just beyond the glass separating me from all that I’ve feared; to turn all those small puddles into big ponds containing something uncontaminated with doubt, maybe those coming clouds can end this drought?