by Chris Baeuerlein

Slumber, the encasement while it rains. My eyes droop and I disappear in the rest. With my radio on and books cracked. The raindrops dance and bounce on the windowsill. It dampens the ground and fills the stream across the sidewalk. Calmly, my melancholy spirit slides away. Diagonally, it descends. The glass window separates me from the storm and I envy the frame for it absorbs the cleansing power. The trees drink from heaven’s waters. Lightning splashes across the sky, but it is hidden in the gray. It roars and assures I’m doing fine. Hearing the pounding on the roof, I know that God comforts me. Let rain’s dots on the building collect and drip down. Asking for a century’s drench, it’s all come to flood the plain. And the melody it rings fills the inner ear with delight. Not often-thought miseries can bring down the happiness. The casting sleep that I’ve received has broken down the want to retreat. Up skips the mind and the soul flashes with colors abroad. Not now will the lonely eyes nod. So soon will transforming songs resonate in corridors through this planet. A warm description paints a rainbow before it stops the storm. It’s for the poet not to misinform. And now the vision becomes a little misdirected. It’s not a process of infection, but reflection. Inward, startled by crashing booms. It’s all too soon, so let’s relax. Success of soul still is a dream. Let angels scheme and pawns intervene where the God of guidance waits for a clearing. It’s nearing the end where time is measured. The pleasure of the rain slows its speed. There’s a meaning in the rain, feeling unseen. The invisible power, every hour through the shower, beams down a sigh. The heart tries and the attempt graces spirit and mind. In a rainy time, where my thoughts drift to find: solace. Meditation on the Lord’s passion, my mind draws an image- a child in puddle, splashing. On a healing level, it’s the revealing clever skill of realizing and achieving a thrill. Even when times are pouring, when the overpowering forces outside seem to be scoring. As the tide turns to triumph and the sword swings to slay, there’s a beautiful gift of a new glorious day. Found in verdant grass, and on dim lit college grounds. Pittering and pattering, filling the heart with Earthly sounds. The gaze grows wide as I open my eyes. Choosing a focus that swarms like the locusts. Menacing skies are replaced, and the size of our obstacles is slowly retraced.

September 19, 2000