A Moment in the Rain
I stand of the ledge of my apartment roof
observing the mass suicide below me.
The raindrops courageously leap from the clouds,
jumping, flying, falling
Do they know where they're headed when they spring from the air?
Or are they merely looking at heaven beyond the pavement?
Is each drop accompanied by a pair of small wings,
as my outstretched arms, perhaps, are my own?
The rain, does it know that when it reaches the ground
the heaven they're seeking is but an illusion?
Or do they already notice and keep jumping on,
in search of that one peaceful moment?
The clouds, do they mourn at the loss of their companions?
Yet the impenetrable walls silently drift by.
I keep gazing forward by I cannot help but feel
a hollow sadness in the depths of my heart.
Another wave of jumpers has leapt,
soaking the ground in their crimson less blood.
Indeed the rain must already know
that they cast their lives attempting to soar.
So the flight must surely be worth such a cost
if it believes their deaths are worth it.
How undeniable the yearning for skies,
that luxurious moment of freedom.
No longer trapped by the chains of their existence
They seek to defy their creation.
Can I too be as courageous as they
and break out of my earthbound confinement?
My feet push off from the cemented ledge,
two wings trailing out behind me.
If I could be anything at all in existence,
I would seek to become like the rain.
In their last moments they try to glide with the wind
and I, as well, wish for the same.