The Sacrifice of Rain

Thundering Silence.

The escape of sound as if time stood poised in an ambush as a predator will to prey.

Then,

The pitter patter of unsteady feet dithered of its destination,

like the wavering stagger of the inexperienced.

Unsure.

Like the fluff of a dandelion flirting with the breeze.

Like the parting wisps of the colorless dawn accepting defeat to day.

It’s drizzling.

An applause of tears hailing from the overcast gloom of thoughts.

A dismal shroud that grows ever depressed.

Uproarious in an instant.

Lightning seamlessly cracks the porcelain of the sky, its canvas.

Thunder belts out a brash, quaking melody.

War waged in the heavens.

A battle of flashy moves and shattering cries.

The state of a tormented mind that never felt blessed.

Wolves of the wind.

The gale howls painstakingly, an accompaniment to the booming thunder.

A natural orchestration of a dampened mood.

But on earth,

The plight of the aggressed voices never felt this great.

Euphoria collected in the bowels of drought.

Joy.

Nectar rained from the rejoicing torrent of clouds to nourish

the cracked soil and flowers that brood.

Celebration.

Lightning played hide and seek on the grounds of the sky.

Thunder boomed its celebratory beat.

Dance.

The sprightly spring of the drops of life that will resurrect the oasis that once flowed.

Glory.

Alas, the rivers burst with frenzy, like an overflowing sink.

The tap that refused to flow reclaimed its previous feat.

 

The sky profoundly loves the earth, to shed tears for it to flourish.

That the rain never asks for joy from the earth, the earth that drinks from tears that nourish.