poetry

Rain

Drips turn to torrents,

drops turn to puddles

that run down the sidewalk

pulled down by unrelenting gravity,

raging through the drains

and into the darkness.

 

But before the drips

take the form of tears

dragged to the lowest point,

the rain dances.

Wind draws the drops

from their downward paths.

 

For a moment,

the beads of water hang there,

drifting over the world.

They are destined to fall –

suspended, silent;

but only for a moment.

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