Spring and a Storm (Tally Hall)

One time I tried to sing about Spring and a Storm. But you know how it goes.

No person would listen. Talking on and on.

"Blah Blah Blah Blah..."

I tell Mr. Moon--the ever-present smiling face of the night sky--about my struggle, but he doesn't so much hear a single lyric before rambling himself.

"Well, I think you return to obscure. Or wherever you were. Before you were," so he says.

Though I suppose I can't blame him--he's not from this world, after all. But maybe when I move on to the next, we can see each other again and come to understand? No one else would understand, I'm sure of it. He's the only reason I don't lose myself in the rain.

The rain: it came down that day, draining my soul away. I'm not sure what it is about it that makes me feel stuck in this way. Going around and around, endlessly, forcing me to immortalize its existence through song.

No one else seems to feel the same as I do, so maybe that's why? Or would it please them to listen to thunder, instead?

Clouds growling overhead, I finally feel enthusiastic. I finally feel alive. The words flow naturally, now, an outpour of meaningful range. Of expression and rhyme and everything in between. It's all so clear--impossibly profound. I'm a star. You're a star. Everyone's a star.

Once we die.

So I create until nothing is left to create. Because that's all I can do--what anyone can do.

Play pretend until we lose ourselves in rain.