Rain

Rain

I stand at the window
Watching the rain streaking
My window like tears.
I can feel the salty wetness
On my face. But when I reach up,
My cheeks are dry.

As I watch, the droplets become
Trickles of water: a network of
Rivers like a page from an Atlas,
Mapping out all the interesting
Geographical features
Of the glass.

The rivers begin to swell. A few
Burst their banks and become oceans:
Flooding my window with water.
Others bulge and swell,
Throbbing like pulsing arteries
Carrying blood from the heart.

Another window tells a different story.
Here, the rain strikes sideways:
Scarring the glass like arrows on a battlefield.
The remnants of war.
I imagine hundreds of wounded soldiers
Fleeing from death.

Suddenly, sunshine breaks.
The rain stops.
My imagination thunders to a stop
Like a train in a station.
Maybe Ill come back another day
And see what stories the weather will tell.


a poem by George M. Dyer

MMVIII

Category:

Film & Animation

Tags:

• rain
• poetry
• weather
• metaphor
• blood
• maps
• geography
• kinetic
• typography
• animation
• art