As the rain falls, I sit here and think,
Of all the things which crawl and which creep,
Around in my head, with so many legs,
Trying to find on which path to descend.
Lightning scars the beautiful sky,
Letting torrents of water down, it cries
Aloud in the night, its thundering heard
By the dog at my feet: he jerks upright and stirs.
The light so bright that when flashes it does
Scare away shadows in rooms up above,
From ceiling to floor it chases away,
All hiding places for thoughts still unmade.
It starts to die down, the storm moves away
As its thundering cries remain here and stay,
To say that it was once was a fellow for real,
Not just imagined by thought and by feel.
The rumbles do soften, the white not as bright,
The passing storm clouds give way for the night,
A shining new moon, yet hidden in mist,
Becomes much the subject of reminisce.
The sky gives one last, uproarious roar
Yet silent, subdued, it sounds sullen and sore,
Its great might deflated by expenditure
Of every last one of its hurts and its burrs.
So I think here and sit and I sit here and think
Oh how mother nature looks as if on the brink
Of a gush of emotions, of fears, loves, and hates,
It lets it all out in one fell swoop of fate.
I quickly go through the names of the people
Caught out in the storm, but with no one to hear them
Alone in their boats, adrift out at sea,
Seemingly waiting for rescue by me.
But who knows what is real, I think to myself,
Maybe those boats are but tips of the shelf
Its drawers and shadows, hiding its secrets
Of how my daring rescue is not really needed.
I forget that I too, am out in a boat,
With no way to paddle my way out this moat,
Surrounding the castle ideal I believe,
Hidden within are these feelings I feel.
I think that I'm happy, I think that I'm sad,
Not wanting to show just really how bad
My thoughts and emotions a big jumbled mess,
All that I want: just a little more rest.
Yet what good that does, a little more rest,
If I can't say just how I do best?
With or without, letting it out,
Holding it in, for fear of fallout.
Just a small tangent: I do what I want.
It is my own poem... I'll do what I want.
I'm writing this down, I'll go my own route:
I may - with success - rhyme 'out' with 'fallout.'
I wish I could say to the world what I think,
Or maybe to say to the world I'm at brink,
To release the frustration, the fury, and worry
Like mother nature, a storm in a hurry.
Yet I think to myself what has already happened,
Oh how those small boats would react if I acted
Upon my gut instinct, would they turn to run?
All that I wanted to have was some fun.
Yet feelings do go, and feelings do pass,
Maybe this storm of my own just won't last;
Another new day, I might make the call,
But for now I'll just sit; as the rain falls.
04 April 2007