Day 234: In Rain

Sometimes writing something is far closer to painting a picture. It is about writing the obscure and hoping that the one who reads finds an innate sense of familiarity. It is not knowing how things change and yet writing about that very change, threading together stories that are yet to happen. Some days these simple stories must come from simple things, for now it is the rain that follows me from morning till the end of hours this night. They are clinging on to the damp air, the smell that fills the wind, the rustling of the trees grows louder from time to time. As I pour myself a moment and share a glass with you, I write to simple things this rain.

In Rain
The lights outside my windows, lights outside my door
And the few raindrops that sneaked in as they drop on my floor
Quiet and patient wind blows on, with nothing to chase
And the things that resonate in memories, even time can't erase

The rain drops they have fallen throughout the day
They have added on to other streams flow where ever they may
Like unstructured words, they keep adding on and on
They are written with no purpose in mind & yet they sound like a song.

The wet roads, my pathways that lead me home
Some that have stayed with me, as I walked on my own
The rain washes the day, and yet pieces of summer remain
While I question if I am losing my mind, among the sane

The quiet walks I enjoy sometimes, trust my footsteps know the way
They walk again, and again as though in distance they have much to say
My rainy day outside my window today, the one I can feel & touch
They wash the remainder of the day, for now written in just this much.