Follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness.
Allen Ginsberg
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