To the rain outside my window-- what a lovely friend you are
Tapping on my glass in the dark, though you stray you're never far
You're in the wispy cotton balls that lay above
In the black roaring thunder-- the gale, my love
To the rain outside my window-- take my sharpest letter
Your arms are my home, your warmth is my sweater
Rustle the leaves and I'll believe, for once I'm one with my identity
And I know perhaps it makes me naïve to have faith in such entity
To The rain outside my window-- with you I am alive
Your presence is my hope although you only stay outside
Curate your finest creation for in your wings I fly
In the roaring coals I'm chilled to the bone with your fire in my eyes.
YOU ARE READING
Quiver
Poetrya place where I've written my feelings when I felt them. it has become a story of depression and recovery, love and loss, hope and fear, and everything in-between. mostly poetry, sometimes stories. :)
