Sometimes they say rainy days are miracles, or movie weather too
but forget gifts or flicks, I'd give it all up to be removed from this gloom I'm tethered to
this precipitations a razorblade feather doom, tickling until my blood is trickling
watching the puddles thickening through my window mourning all the simple things
this Sunday morning the drizzle binged, becoming a rancor downpour
turning the days name ironic, each raindrop splash making both my faith and the ground sore
plauged by the sounds of Gods tears gracing my window sill, but between strikes of lightning
I see a lonely soul outside, and he looks just like me...damn I think it might be
hes fighting, trying to coax a hit out of this tightly packed pipe dream
his daze was hazed still he tried to sing his days away, until the winds of the night screamed
and like steam his temper rose, raking ember coals through his mental December snows
yet even though flakes werent falling outside...within they fell, melted, and helped his death erode
owning more than a gentle hold on the ebb of soul sunshine squandered
aspiring to be a father, a far cry from the life of a one time daughter marauder
with a crooked posture, this small offer author penned his spirit into my vision
and crafted my eyesight into the symmetry of falling fluid with a minimal incision
I'm centered on the wisdom that when the rain dries, the eyes do also
so I'm biding mind as well as time to find out if if I've placed my faith in false hopes.