The rain
Sends me morse code messages
That go tap tap against my window.
They’re meant for me,
And anyone who will listen.
I decipher his whispers,
But the thunder joins in,
And I can’t hear the rain above all her noise.
The rumbling makes the rain glitter
Like falling stars
That plummet into my hands
But dissolve at my fingertips.
The rain
Cannot touch me properly,
Unless he uses his tears.
So, the rain
Codes harder,
Taps faster,
And I can’t seem to keep up.
He sings in rhythmic beats,
Melodic pounding against the glass panes.
I say wait,
But he doesn’t listen
And does as he pleases.
I sit here
And hope I got it right.
I tap the window,
Tap morse in reply.
“I’m right here.”
YOU ARE READING
Cityscape
PoetryA collection of poems written in the city. Written for city folk who don't quite belong. And for everyone else who fall in between the cracks of 'here' and 'there.'
