There is rain on the pane,
of the window to my soul.
It streaks down my senses,
and blurs my every goal.

Rain chills my composure,
and steals my resolve.
A hypothermic measure,
as my thoughts revolve.

Rain cascades down,
and soaks my existence,
stealing my patience,
and lowering my resistance.

Those tears from heaven,
leave nothing but sad,
And torture me endless,
with the loss that I've had.

Will the rain ever stop falling,
on this lifetime of grief?
Or wash up waterlogged flotsam,
on some far distant reef?

In time, I know the rain will cease,
the sun will peek out to warm the heart,
replenish the land with a fertile ease,
and I'll begin to make a new start.

Raindrops on a window

Photo Courtesy Teresa Bodwell Writes

I'm a happy camper. Just had this dream
of a poem I just had to write down and it
happened to be raining today.

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Copyright 2014 © Ronald W. Hull


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