I Am The Rain
© Surazeus
2018 05 27
The rain that falls on my head in this land
falls not on the heads of people in deserts
where no butterflies spring from rotten hearts
of the dead who fell out of broken doors.
When the rain falls I stand inside the door
of the house I built not with my own hands
to watch the faces of people in rain
who once lived here two thousand years ago.
Though the rain falls from the eye of the sun,
transforming into the soil of my flesh,
each seed I plant in the hearts of the dead
grows tall knowing the name I tried to hide.
Rain drops splatter against the silver window
to write the original songs of life
in fluid letters that flow down the sky
and water seeds of laughter in my brain.
The rain that falls in my eyes in this land
once sparkled in lakes all over the world
and reflected the eyes of conscious creatures
who became aware of themselves alive.
Though all those creatures who gazed in those lakes
died and dissolved to dust before my birth
the conscious visions of their hopes and dreams
shine still in the rain falling on my face.
The dead who try to crawl back through the doors
wander whispering in the wind of our dreams
for our brains invent ghosts we want to see
who alone know secrets we want to hide.
Gold sun gleams through swirling clouds after rain
indifferent to strange energy of love
its beams spark bright in our hope-aching hearts
which sprout songs like flowers from our moist brains.
The rain that falls on my face in this land
at one time in the spinning of our world
was consumed by conscious creatures who woke
from dream of atoms and sang to the rain.
Every drop of water cycles through shapes
down mountains as rivers through lakes to seas
then swirls as clouds that fall on us as rain
and pulses in every cell of our bodies.
I feel the rain gushing as flashing blood
that flows through the veins nourishing my soul
so we we look at each other in eyes
of shining water we kiss as the rain.
We are the rain in these bodies of flesh,
embracing each other to generate
more bodies of water who wake from dream
and remember our dance in the vast sky.
The rain that falls through my soul in this land
remembers dancing in the flow of waves
through every river and lake of the world,
and leaping high from every ocean tide.
Only the rain has smaller hands than yours
so when we hold hands on our endless walk
the drops of rain that compose our strange souls
connect our hearts with the song of the rain.
When I die all the water of my flesh
will evaporate back to the vast sky
and become one again with swirling wind
to dance in the sparkling beams of the sun.
Falling rain soaks soil and is sucked by roots
then bloom as flowers that bulge into apples
which I eat to taste the soul of the world
so I am the rain and the rain is me.
© Surazeus
2018 05 27
The rain that falls on my head in this land
falls not on the heads of people in deserts
where no butterflies spring from rotten hearts
of the dead who fell out of broken doors.
When the rain falls I stand inside the door
of the house I built not with my own hands
to watch the faces of people in rain
who once lived here two thousand years ago.
Though the rain falls from the eye of the sun,
transforming into the soil of my flesh,
each seed I plant in the hearts of the dead
grows tall knowing the name I tried to hide.
Rain drops splatter against the silver window
to write the original songs of life
in fluid letters that flow down the sky
and water seeds of laughter in my brain.
The rain that falls in my eyes in this land
once sparkled in lakes all over the world
and reflected the eyes of conscious creatures
who became aware of themselves alive.
Though all those creatures who gazed in those lakes
died and dissolved to dust before my birth
the conscious visions of their hopes and dreams
shine still in the rain falling on my face.
The dead who try to crawl back through the doors
wander whispering in the wind of our dreams
for our brains invent ghosts we want to see
who alone know secrets we want to hide.
Gold sun gleams through swirling clouds after rain
indifferent to strange energy of love
its beams spark bright in our hope-aching hearts
which sprout songs like flowers from our moist brains.
The rain that falls on my face in this land
at one time in the spinning of our world
was consumed by conscious creatures who woke
from dream of atoms and sang to the rain.
Every drop of water cycles through shapes
down mountains as rivers through lakes to seas
then swirls as clouds that fall on us as rain
and pulses in every cell of our bodies.
I feel the rain gushing as flashing blood
that flows through the veins nourishing my soul
so we we look at each other in eyes
of shining water we kiss as the rain.
We are the rain in these bodies of flesh,
embracing each other to generate
more bodies of water who wake from dream
and remember our dance in the vast sky.
The rain that falls through my soul in this land
remembers dancing in the flow of waves
through every river and lake of the world,
and leaping high from every ocean tide.
Only the rain has smaller hands than yours
so when we hold hands on our endless walk
the drops of rain that compose our strange souls
connect our hearts with the song of the rain.
When I die all the water of my flesh
will evaporate back to the vast sky
and become one again with swirling wind
to dance in the sparkling beams of the sun.
Falling rain soaks soil and is sucked by roots
then bloom as flowers that bulge into apples
which I eat to taste the soul of the world
so I am the rain and the rain is me.
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