Kid, on the Carpet, in a Rainstorm

Sitting, staring into the magnificence of a rainstorm

Scared that maybe a face will appear with the lighting

But relaxed at the continual meeting of the raindrop and the concrete.

Sleep does not come easily

Dancers swirl around memories

Memories swirl around thoughts of the future.

The storm is calmer now, making my world darker

Yet not melancholy or dragging

But in that mysterious sense of dark which entices the spirit.

Headphones blaring music into my skull

Inspiring my imagination

The curse which fuels my need to continually create.

The carpet, rough under my skin, is still somehow more comfortable

Than the coach lying only three feet behind me

And helps me to stay awake and make use of myself in this world of pointless talent.