"The Rain"
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I used to spend hours writing of you
My voice would speak only of you
Until the ears that received these words grew tired my dwelling
Until the eyes that read these writings gave bad reviews
They said to move along and find a new inspiration
Because hearing about my love for you grew repetitive
So I turned to my window where the rain fell harshly
And created writings about the peaceful sounds
Of rain on the windowsill
I spoke of the beauty and the cold soaking of the rain
As it seeped into my veins through my soggy clothes
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But the rain was not rain
It was not water in my veins or droplets that calmed my soul
My love for you became the pounding fall of tears
These tears were called the rain
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// Edited //
