Rain

[J_Eyre]

Why is it so hard to love the pouring rain?
All that echoes of you now is pain.
My life had ended before it had begun
no dash, no cry, no starting gun.
Thousands of eyes and countless hands,
and still I’m trapped by timeless bands.
Did you see me screaming, mourning?
My desire for life is barely forming.

So I stand beneath the windowpane
and let it drum its patient rain.
It runs like veins down glass and stone,
while I stay fixed, still not my own.
If sorrow is a kind of chain,
it pulls the hardest when no one’s to blame.
And in that cold, relentless sound,
I hunt one honest pulse I haven’t found.

I watch the gutter carry off the leaves;
it doesn’t mean to, and it still retrieves.
The world goes on as cars pass, doors open, close
and somehow I am here for that much, I suppose.
I am not reaching for a lesson, or a sign
I am just letting moments stack, one after one, in line.
And when your echo comes again,
I’ll let it pass through rain, and not pretend