Rain Drops

Waters form up above as I ascend the mountain trail.

My thoughts glimpse back to the morning of the first light, a time I could not fail.

Bound by the whispering question of the where behind the why,

Music plays through the trees, an echo that cannot lie.

Raindrops fold over memories of the first swan song; I, too, am still alive.

Fears beguile hopes, washing away the first planted dreams for which I strive.

A drawn-out emotion from a young seed such as I.

We are all plants made from clay, after all; raindrops become nourishment,

A promise made from the foundation of the sky.

Rain, the essence of life, within the needle of light in my eye.

I feel the shifting winds descend upon me like a ghost.

A cold hand has become brave,

A shadow from beyond the grave.

Glowing waters touch the sun with a kiss.

Love undivided, attention to a simple truth we tend to miss.

Water, too, yearns to become one with the ocean.

A promise remembered,

A promise forgotten,

A lie veiled in the shadow of truth.

The sun circles the moon with light.

Clouds, too, remember the first dawn,

With hope and with fright.

Am I alive, and how does one feel?

Inside such thoughts lies a purpose one cannot feel.

My thoughts and still flames pivot upon the dripping head.

Get out and look through the windows of whispers left unsaid.

Raindrops cycle the globe as they part for life.

We, too, collide, our hero's forge.

A journey rests upon the final, glowing knife.