4 Days of Rain
Various remembrances, these four days of rain!
The light bulb I poem by blew without a word,
Though true inspiration sought the paper plain,
It's purity safe with my creative senses slain,
I dare not spill ink when skies demanded to be heard.
Frozen in the effects and taking complete attention,
It sounded off the shingles with a religious reign,
A fragmented sermon, void of scripture to mention,
Its influence landing with downward ascension,
Each tiny splash represented a far reaching disdain.
One window still breathing, the others were dying,
It spoke of the stubborn storm spitting on its sill,
While good things outside covered their crying,
For four days and nights, not a single tear drying,
My eyes were witness to windows drafting their will.
Downspouts were failing while gutters were drown,
The storm took life in so many poetic ways,
A fear of the ceiling as depression pushed down,
My struggles dug numerous holes into the ground,
Would rain ever again give way to the sun's lively rays?
The words were piling high inside of my reserves,
I lit a candle and held my paper down with a rock,
I chose to give the storm what a storm truly deserves,
A poet surviving its sadness then, somehow he serves
A poem with ink running like tears upon his scribbling block.
In time each poet will fall upon their many days of rain,
Until each has lived it and taken the storm on in battle,
The sun should supply them with words past the pane,
Our sills, though free of recent swell or lasting stain,
The toughest words we earn can so easily be lost to prattle!
Written 2009 © Mark L. Berryann
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