Rain poem
What is it about the rain.
Maybe because it is the only thing left that man cannot touch.
Its anger may kill us
and there is nothing we can do.
It makes one feel small
to know the rain,
the lightning, the thunder.
The largeness of it all
envelops the sun
until even the tallest building
casts no shadow.
Everybody runs from the rain.
Everybody hides.
The ones who embrace the rain are anomalies.
To stand in the rain
is to stand alone.
There is a stereotype that these are the ones who know how to live.
No. These are the ones who turn to embrace
their own destruction.
And in doing so,
they live more brightly.
Under the flickering lightning
only they
cast shadows.
Fresh Hell 