Caught In The Rain Poem by Bill Cantrell

I can smell the rains of poetry,
Coming my way
Magic is in the air
Ominous clouds tower to the heavens floor,
As they touch,
Lightning strikes the good green earth,
Making a path to those in need
I have waited countless nights,
That I might by chance make love with the dawn
And now a monsoon grants my wish
Dear friends, poetry is more than personal,
It is love coupled with confessions,
Exclusive trust that she will not betray you
In a deep sleep, she tells me,
I'm in a dream,
Prodding me to control my subconscious,
That I direct my steps wherever I wish
Blessed is she,
For she knows my needs,
Telling me I am the only one,
For poetry knows we are selfish,
We as any lover wants her all to ourselves
As a child demands full attention from its mother
For only with the closeness of full trust,
Does one pour our their heart,
On poetry's lap
I know very well how to weep
As there are many doors for emotions to exit
Yet, with poetry,
The rains come and I am readjusted
She does allow me to flirt with music,
My pen is my pick,
And I slaughter the blues
If I bend the strings just so,
She hears my calling from up above
And she eventually comes to me,
Face to face
I must tell you,
Her eyes are in complete harmony, with her smile
With such beauty,
I find myself happy to be her fool,
I gladly stand in the rain,
Cherishing every drop
I will fill every vessel,
To carry me through the scorching heat,
When the droughts encompass the land
And melancholy distorts both night and day
Now my friends,
It is time to get wet,
To dance and sing in the rain
So,
Let it rain,
Let the floods of inspiration come!