It’s Raining

Rain on me.

wash me clean

and let me fly.

Walking in circles

with fatal wounds upon my shoulders

and I’m sure my hair is a mess,

but I don’t care.

… this is me in simplest form,

(or so you see.)

Arms so numb it’s soothing,

clothes so drenched it’s revealing.

then again, what is there to reveal?

skin or soul?

Both are drenched

with this new-found simplicity

so profound, it’s beautiful.

so beautiful that it’s shocking.

Shocking like a raindrop

cold and unexpected against the skin

makes one tingle with absolute joy.

Such a simple thing, water

yet powerful and calm

lovely and horrendous

hurtful and friendly.

How they fall into puddles

going unnoticed for what they are

for who they are.

Simply raining on me.

washing me clean

giving me wings to fly.

Moving in fluid circles

with nothing but wet upon my shoulders

tangled hair swiping my neck,

and I don’t care.

… this is truly me,

(on the inside) oh can’t they see.

Rain on me.

Oh what glory,

and I hope it never to cease

lest I fall into a puddle

unable to jump back out.

How the raindrops fall

will never fail to amaze

those few childish creatures,

with pen in hand, (as I)

who raise their minds and hands to the clouds,

soaking in every drop of joy;

drenched with every bit of beauty

this world has to offer.

What simplicity,

oh how I long to be sodden with such a load.

Rain on me.