Poetry and Writes

Raining Again (POEM)

It's raining again, oh God,
Hues I've slogged through before
Long slanted beams
Of a mildewed rafter
Rivers running down the mountain's arm.

Dress me in moss, please
Dress me in bark, let me drink
From the roadside gully
Let me laugh and dance, be
Of this urban rainfall.

Rainfall, rain falling
Gray without an end.

It's raining again, for the trees bend
Lichen saturated, branches full
Woes aligned in gathered moisture,
Sinking into gentle lawns
Soaking the earth and its meadows
Of  sun. Oh God,
Let me see gold again,
Let me see green, let me
Be the color itself, anything but
This ever-present dull-day
And its ever-heavy ways.

Let me be a bird, won't you?
An explorer of foreign tides?
I'll sing and I'll soar away
From this place, to lands
None have seen before.

A land of honey, of purple, of sun
Of trees with chimes (not lichen),
Of bees that drone among white-laced fronds
Searching and always finding.
This land is birthed of warm breezes,
Of lacquered yellow skies, of porcelain daises,
Pianos in every hall,
Birdsong gleaming from evergreen rooftops,
The wealthy ones heeding
The poorer ones' call.

Oh God, I'd go anywhere,
See anything, as long as it delivered
Me from
This place where raindrops ring.