The Rain

Written by: Mike Butler

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?