Umbrella Poem by Iam notThou

Well the girl with the umbrella, she's pretty and all
But the Rain loves her! -more than i'll ever know
She walks against the tempest tears, but O
the Wind cries, 'my dear, my dear...
give up your shield -if you wish to be near'
Intense roaring off the shore -distant hornets
are diving cyclones pulling tight like a corsette
'round still-slender waists and breaking stillness
'cherish this..' until the return of silence
falls the precious fretful eyelids-
'wake anew and less unguided! '

Like a stone skipping across the river
child pray hard, it might stay up forever
like a stone sliced right down the middle
releasing the scents of imprisoned meadows
sweep through the city -thus we bellow
primitive yawning atop the green shadows
beneath swallowed whispers of what- we not know
glowing sour suns melt on tongues of snow
while the incoming soil rushes in all at once
we hit the sand like great soldiers of love
parachutes or kite string held tight in God's glove
over the palisades clouds flare and parade
the waters part as we pass to fend the sky's blade
and they say with envy in their cloudy language
'go down, fall down, back to land so savage! '
but we arc in reverse like whistling ribbons
we shatter the sunset and don't stop at heaven
inspire the planets and outrun the blessed
climbing the clocks up to God's open arms
-and our failures on earth have got us this far

And the villagers held me- high like a dream
groping my thoughts and the ripping seams
-of my patchwork clothing, double-stitching
melting in the heat, stained by the breeze carried
freckled leaves -that break to the touch
and I have never been -Loved this much-
I am a product of the brush, as I drip
to the page, from the tongue- from the lips
in a lyrical breath or in poetic whispers
passed on -from the brothers to the sisters,
from the lovers kiss and the bliss that is rendered
from deep-throated winter to spring's soft singing
if the choir exits the music wont -be leaving
I still hear songs from the prisons of aging
and the scent of ginger from gown-wearing sages
who insist that weather is the sigh of Satan
but I can taste it- when the saltless seeds fall
for the girl in the Rain -is an open wall