steve a. manolis poet

Rain

 

these aren't the tears of the heavens

or sadness bestowed upon loves lost

or found

these aren't some songs of hope or despair

or time wasted away, rusting ideally

or shimmering

against the beauty of your face

trickling down  your amber check

following the curve of your neck

this isn't me lamenting

the long agos, 

or the wishes of what might have been

i trip over those times, i must admit,

but this isn't for that which would make you laugh at me

and tell me 'i told you so'

even though you never did

no, this is just rain

cooling the air, only to end

as rains always do

and leave the earth

hot and humid

leaving me

to where i can't stand the sound

or the taste, or how my lungs feel

just trying to breathe another breath