Homeless in the Rain

The sky, heavy-laden with curdled black clouds, Burst wide open, and all night long it rained. It pitter-pattered on the panes, And rattling on the slanting roofs. It churned the dry soil to a pulp, Overflowed the dusty gutters. It drove the people from the streets, And moaned amongst the houses. 'Twas but a fluke, a summer storm Lightning snaked the sky Thunder rumbled and crashed Instilling fear and panic in passers-by. Soon it abated to a drizzle, A thin mist shrouded the square. And as the town clock struck the sixth hour Ghostly figures ventured forth again. Yet during all this precipitation He trudged alone along the streets, Rain dribbled through his matted hair And wetted stubble on his dirty face. It cleansed his external demeanour From the grime of past lazy days, It could do nothing to eradicate The heaviness that filled his inner self. The air was warm, and strange enough He felt little discomfort from the rain. The vault of heavy clouds ascended, The breeze was gentle and fresh. He went back to his favourite place, The bakery shop has not yet opened, From its cellars hot dry air Surged up, surrounded by his whole being, Warming him from the wet chill. He soaked up the fragrant smell And yearning for freshly baked bread, A luxury he could ill afford. And so he continued on his journey, Alone, atoning for his past. Hungry and desolate and chained, Externally cleansed by the drenching rain Until the day he'd die.