Pour Newness On Me
Washing away drab, dour and rotting elements,
falling rains cleanse our earth anew.
Sunlight returns to beam upon fresh, crisp nature.
I have begged the rain to pour newness on me,
but never does it heed my plea or grace my need.
Rain, I desperately beseech, please, as a cloud do burst
a purge of the thunderous fear, the stormy, stinging pain
and anxiety tidal waves continuously knocking me down.
The sun will never warm me with healing, soothing rays
if the rain never floods my concrete dam of depression,
freeing my life’s stream to flow with deep content.
Though the rain denies me relief, it keeps me company,
for its dark skies match my inner gray, dreary season
and give me proper reasons to shelter in isolation.
On rainy days, I may pretend that I’m part of life,
rather than a human drought of withering, mortal inertia.
I may even, fleetingly, allow myself to believe
the returning sun will spot the drenched me and,
in either mercy or love, revive, refresh and restore
my drowning, soggy spirit with rays of therapeutic warmth.
If only thunder would crack, roar and screech a demand
for skies to pour suicide ideology drops down in a loud,
rhythmic, lulling beat, such drops would, in time, evaporate
and I would realize the blessing of a true, deep, restful sleep.
Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2016
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