This is not a dorm room, nor a bed.
But the soft, clean grass–green, new.
As I lay relaxed, entranced, enthralled,
I feel the beauty of the night.
The beauty of the rain.
Falling gently and bravely.
Washing away the smudges of worry, doubt, fear.
Allowing the total and complete abandonment of the stained garment in which we live;
Pulling over our heads the crisp, clean thought of a new day.
The rain does this to me. Nearly everytime. =) I am no poet, as you can see–merely a thinker.
Here are more rainy day thoughts from me:
Click to read: After the Rain Comes New Life
after the rain comes new life.
Imagine this rain pelting down on me, the lonely yellow flower,
or weed, you can call me whatever you like.
But…just imagine this rain, drenching me and soaking into the pores of my wilted stalk, and very ungently weighing the fragile yellow petals closer to the dark, drenched soil.
Mud-stained rain pools around my withered roots like a murder victim’s claim to death.
And all the while I feel as if I’m drowning in someone else’s lake of fire.
I only now did notice the soft, spongy texture where my roots desperately feed; secretly reviving my soul, pumping oxygen into my metaphorical heart, and bringing color to the saddest part of me.
“One more day to waste away,” the little girl sitting beside me on the bumpy subway sullenly shares. She is dressed in a gray trenchcoat with a matching beret.
In reading old blog posts on myspace I realized that I can WRITE! And yes that statement can be viewed as bragging, but hear me out: If I put my mind to it I can actually put thoughts and words together very beautifully. So there is no excuse why I write such nonsense. My words no longer hold beauty. Come on, now, Alyssa—find some beauty in your words again.