Like words they hit the dry earth,
telling mysterious stories of us.
Words of truth, torpedo's through the chilled sky,
speak of hurt, suffering and pain,
happiness, love and rejoice.
Like God's vibrant messengers,
they patter sentences and pour chapters.
Only raindrops can see our lives
through our satined, concealed windows
and tell what is most enigmatic.
Truth.
And for that, they are fled from,
avoided at all chance,
like a diseased, haunting plague,
so that we may escape their story.
Yet, they are everywhere,
smothering us in numbers,
holding us as their prisoners.
Barring us in their drops of revelation,
their merciless story is force-fed.
There is no foreseeable end to it.
The beginning is vague and forgotten.
But until the raindrops end their prose,
until the sky hits the ground
and we are drenched in complete truth,
we will watch the raindrops tell our stories,
of hurt suffering and pain,
happiness, love and rejoice. |
Submission Name: The Storytellers
...thank you so very much and Take care...I hope to hear from you...Travis