The Rain That Drenches the Tar.

I think about the rain that drenches the tar

Dying its faded greyness changing it to its shadow self

I think about the days of the sun and happiness,

Thinking about the weather, bringing me some light,

I brush my fingers across the window,

And wipe away the consuming steam,

A measure of my life, marked,

It covers the window,

Shading it white,

Palely reflecting, the rain on the other side.

I brush my fingers across the window,

And mark a memory for the morrow…

I have been thinking about tomorrow,

Treading softly through my sorrow,

My feet are steady,

Unsteadily standing,

Trying to stand tall,

To raise arms high,

To see tomorrow without a sigh,

I ask the world and all,

About the day to come,

But all I hear are the chants of birds in a distant future

The cries of pain from the past,

And the echoing songs of the present,

Over and over,

Merged as one,

As noise that roars,

In my ears and behind closed eyes,

I’m terrified,

Yet hopeful

As the rain that drenches the tar,

Making a mark in the present day,

Almost predicting,

The future to be,

Like a cup and its tea leaves.

That is what a rain drenched tar,

Is like on the day after rain.

 

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6 thoughts on “The Rain That Drenches the Tar.

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