Elegy for a trite metaphor

***

outside the drips splatter

patter to the ground puddle

muddle muddy all around

rain

at last, sweet and blessed

 

overheard in every attitude

gratitude in every voicing

rejoicing, joining in the sound

me

 

interesting the poets trend

tend to call the ugly spatter

sadder, sadly i have found

false

it is, to me. instead it is the

 

sun, with its vicious parching

marching merciless and boasting

toasting, roasting whatever it finds

dead

and gone, turning all it touch to dust

 

last year was there only drought

doubt that permeated, fear

here in me and all around

blight

 

bright it is that is the villain

killing, spilling blood, fulfilling

its own needs, reeds bleeding dry of

life, strife it brings sharp as knife as

axes, guillotines and taxes

hush

 

{eyes closed}: picture perfect days

always include the sunshine

funtime likely to be found

there

at beaches, pleasant and serene

 

but rain is truer: cleanses, washes

sloshes off the hateful

grateful am i that the ground

loves

the fall, drinks it as must we

 

for out of dirt there comes no green

lest before there was the rain

and out of heart there comes no clean

lest before there was the pain

***

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