Tonight the tiniest stars rain on the tired surface of mother earth. I
feel it down my face. Like tiny diamonds, the raindrops adorn my hair,
face, unblinking eyes.
How I stare unblinking into the stars, drops on my lashes, I never know.
But only the tiniest stars, only what I can claim as my own.
The ground had near withered away. In the rain, the dust calms, and the ground renews life. So quickly, easily, as though it were never dead at all. Is that why I stand in the rain? To somehow acquire this skill of healing, smoothing over the rough edges and returning to a peaceful painless state?
Somehow, mother earth's skill escapes me. I try in vain to light a cigarette. At the very least, the rain will keep me from that. Good enough for now.
You look at me with laughing eyes. Your silhouette in the remaining sun slouches, maybe even heavier then you do. Small as a child in the distance, your grin beckons me more then the slight movement of your head.
You would claim to understand the meaning of loss, should I care to ask. You profess to know what it's like to be weathered, where even jewels of rain don't make you pretty anymore. Could you look at the sky and know what you can and cannot own? Or do you still long for the brightest, prettiest, smartest, even if you know you hope in vain?
You stare at me when I do not comply to your beckon. Am I pretty, standing here with jewels in my hair and the stars dropping tears into my eyes? Blinking thick eyelashes because I can't look unblinking into the sky with the rain so heavy?
If you dare desire something pretty, you are still a child, Reno. They don't last. Even as you walk over to me, question in your face, I am dead. It would take a thousand years of rain to soothe away my own withered life.
And the rain won't last forever.
How I stare unblinking into the stars, drops on my lashes, I never know.
But only the tiniest stars, only what I can claim as my own.
The ground had near withered away. In the rain, the dust calms, and the ground renews life. So quickly, easily, as though it were never dead at all. Is that why I stand in the rain? To somehow acquire this skill of healing, smoothing over the rough edges and returning to a peaceful painless state?
Somehow, mother earth's skill escapes me. I try in vain to light a cigarette. At the very least, the rain will keep me from that. Good enough for now.
You look at me with laughing eyes. Your silhouette in the remaining sun slouches, maybe even heavier then you do. Small as a child in the distance, your grin beckons me more then the slight movement of your head.
You would claim to understand the meaning of loss, should I care to ask. You profess to know what it's like to be weathered, where even jewels of rain don't make you pretty anymore. Could you look at the sky and know what you can and cannot own? Or do you still long for the brightest, prettiest, smartest, even if you know you hope in vain?
You stare at me when I do not comply to your beckon. Am I pretty, standing here with jewels in my hair and the stars dropping tears into my eyes? Blinking thick eyelashes because I can't look unblinking into the sky with the rain so heavy?
If you dare desire something pretty, you are still a child, Reno. They don't last. Even as you walk over to me, question in your face, I am dead. It would take a thousand years of rain to soothe away my own withered life.
And the rain won't last forever.