Description: I just remembered this poem from long ago. I wrote it some time around 1998. You must forgive me for this, as part of my story includes the fact that much of my poetry has been lost, through time and circumstance. Someone once told me that it is not lost, it's inside of me; a part of me, and I think he was right. This one came at me with such force that I could not contain it. It may not be exactly as it was, but this is the way it returned. I have a sneaking suspicion there was more between the second-last and last lines, but for now, I can't remember. I'll add it in the future if I do.
The Sound of the Rain -------------------------------------------
I love the sound of the rain...
It calms my mind and soothes my soul,
As if it could feel my pain.
And yes, it's wrong for me to cry;
It hurts you more than I would know...,
But birds, we're not, and in the sky
Are rain and sun and paper airplanes,
With messages I can't explain...
My eyes sting and burn
With tears long and lost,
The sun dries them up as they fall to the ground.
I feel like a paper, crumpled and tossed
I scream; but no-one hears the sound.
But God in the Heavens is listening softly,
As we reach out blindly
For hard rocks to use as weapons.
I love the sound of the rain....
It's the only thing
That knows my pain.
I like this, it's pretty and soothing. I like the sound of rain, too; I really wish they could get those rain-machines to sound authentic to sleep by...
I always remember just pieces of things I wrote before, it takes days if I don't have them written somewhere, to pull them back up... so I totally hear what you're saying on that. Sometimes the "bad" ones I don't post and throw away, make 5-6 re-appearances, almost demanding they be written...
Writing is funny like that, isn't it? This is so pretty, though, I see why it punched its way back through the veil. Sometimes I think poems are just demons, waiting to be read to enter someone else's body and mind for awhile.
Submission Name: The Sound of the Rain
