Thoughtful and melancholic, a lion mourns in the night,
Bearing untold sorrows, his once proud visage a weathered sight.
O gentle fire of August, lover of humankind,
Where have your noble causes led, what solace do you find?
Oh, the man who loves the rain! The man who loves the rain!
In his pain he finds his art, a symphony of bittersweet refrain.
Behold the beauty of his tears, born from skies that weep,
As he navigates the stormy seas and journeys through the deep.
Desires unfulfilled like raindrops falling from above,
Disappointments grow like weeds in soil devoid of love.
Dreams once held aloft now shattered on the ground,
Failures whispered in the wind, a haunting mournful sound.
Identity in flux, like a river ever-changing course,
He seeks immortal truths in realms devoid of remorse.
Through chaos and through conflict, he wanders lost and alone,
In a wilderness of shadows where his spirit seeks its home.
His heartbreak echoes thunder as he battles demons within
Braving darkness and uncertainty with courage beneath his skin.
The man who loves the rain, a gothic figure dark and deep,
Navigating treacherous waters where restless spirits sleep.
In his melancholy madness he finds solace in the storm
And in each rain-kissed moment, he discovers he is reborn.
YOU ARE READING
Man was Born for Love and Revolution
PoetryMan was not born to merely exist, but to live a life filled with love and revolution. Love is the driving force behind all human interactions and relationships. It is what brings us together, connects us, and creates a sense of belonging. Without lo...
