Scattered Showers

The Rain People

When it rains, I die, drowning in despair.

The acid burns my skin and grinds my bones.

Until I’m left as a soaking pile.

Satiating the earth that absorbs me.

Pulled into the depths. Recycled remains.

Millions of droplets dissipate at last.

Treacherous torrents kept my vision blurred.

I can’t tell if I’m crying, not quite yet.

Perhaps it will subside. This too shall pass.

Once God is done playing his silly game.

“The clouds are danger! They hinder our growth.”

Said the little saplings who needed light.

Promise of the future, when the rain stops.

They can’t reach the stars if not one shines bright.

Full of potential and futures unseen.

“What happened? I watered them every day.”

Said God, who built boats, but couldn’t plant trees.

Preference for humans passed, not present.

“With whom do we escape?” Cried the flora.

As the fauna turn, marching, carry on.

Left by the wayside. Wrong side of the tracks.

Once you belong, you can’t ever turn back.

Abandoned to become stronger, for them.

Distant, but they feel your warmth and kindness.

So that they may come out of their hard shells.

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