Rain.

Cold and warm
wet and soft
hard and sharp.
Rain is falling.
Down its coming,
depressing and cleansing,
warm and burning.
Numbing my bones and freezing my blood.
Clearing my mind and drowning it.
Sigh
Cry
and Roar.
Rain comes down
soaks me to the bone.
Washes my core and makes me clean.
I look up.
Into the rolling and crashing.
Black clouds stretch from horizon to horizon.
I take a deep breath,
and scream.
The storm takes my screams,
my cries,
my sobs,
and tears.
They add to the din
crashing all around me.
My hair is dark,
plastered to my skull
and clinging to my neck.
My skin is light,
and pale as ice.
Cold from the sheets of water
driving down around me.
But also on fire.
Burning from the sting.
The sting of ice hitting my skin,
like a thousand needles.
But I feel no pain.
No pain.
This is what the rain does.
I cleanses the pain.
The pain on my skin,
and the pain inside.
The hot ball of stress,
grief,
hate,
and hurt.
It cools and shrinks,
dropping from my body
like a load finally set down
after a long day.
As I scream and cry
to the sky.
It takes it all,
and throws it back.
Back as fresh water,
to wash any lingering bad feelings away.
From my mind,
my heart,
my soul,
and my spirit.
As the storm peaks,
and lightning tears at the sky.
I collapse.
Its to much.
I can't stand under it.
Only lay there,
tired and spent.
The storm slows.
The wind dies,
the water thins,
and it no longer falls.
The clouds part
and the light streams down,
on me.
Tired and cried out,
spent and weak.
But at peace.
Finally at peace.
I close my eyes,
and stop.

Walking Home

down the street,
I felt a car whiz by.
The wind
buffeted
carressed
pushed
and floated all around me.
And in that instant,
I wondered what it would hve felt like
if the car had hit me.
Would it hurt right away?
Or would it take a minuet?
Would I fly?
Or would I just get crushed under the wheels?
What would the landing be like?
Would I hit my head on a rock?
Would I black out?
And the driver?
Would they stop and call for help?
Or would it just be a hit and run?
I'm not sure which I would prefer.
I wouldn't want them to get in trouble,
but I would want to thank them.
And afterwards?
Would I die?
Would I be in a coma?
How many people would visit me,consious or not?
What about my funeral?
Would anyone come?
Would they cry if they did?
I kinda hope they would.
That way I could know who cared.
These questions buzz around my skull,
bumping and colliding.
I would want to fly.
To be in a coma.
If only to see who came to see me.
Who would hold my hand,
talk to me,
pray for me,
hope for me,
cry for me?
I'm afraid though.
That no one would.
That makes me cry.
But what makes me smile
is that if you asked me
if I would have stepped in front
of that car.
My answer would be:
Yes
in a heart beat.