Rain
Rain is not the condensation
of vapor from the skies,
But a relief to a feverish state
of existence.
The water droplets awash more
than the window panes,
They cool and cleanse the harried
and the muddied spirit.
The rain drops dance to a music,
Inundating everything with a
primal cry,
It's democracy steeped in lavish
aristocracy.
The dusty echo of the arid land
Is only matched by the sighs
from the taxed mind,
Both wanting to be cooled, washed,
and cleansed,
The rain falls through the soul,
Watering the seeds embedded
of late.
The curve of the wind-backed
rain
Is the soothing arch over the
sweltering street,
A coaxing bend with osmotic
vibrations,
Chasing the demons out and ushering
in the fresh mental state.