The Rain

The rain is coming. Giant clouds amass

Above his head, which from them finds no shield.

He stands exposed, enclosed by endless grass

With nothing near to cloak him from their yield.

He runs the lengths and widths of God’s terrain

To find a cave or den in which to hide.

He gasps for air; he’s searched the land in vain

While ‘gainst his head some chilling drops collide.

He builds a shelter out of sticks and stones

And lies beneath it, aching for some shade.

Yet shabby twigs and leaves could not postpone

The waters of the sky, to soon cascade.

The rain has come and he’ll be soaked, it seems.

He does the only thing he can: he screams.

 

 2009

2 thoughts on “The Rain

  1. I enjoyed reading this poem! The symbolism of the “rain” and your style is intriguing. Next on my list is “The Pit”. I hear it’s great!

    Like

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