The cold pellets pop against the windowpane,
A strangely soothing comfort to my restless psyche.
Rhythmic, pointed, piercing.
The crackle fades, and I am alone again with my thoughts.
What is there to tell?
What is left to feel?
The glass blocks me from the elements,
But leaves me thirsty inside.
Thirsty for what?
Only God knows.
At least the sound, the rain
Comfort my questioning soul.
The lights flickered then dead. Power outages are not so bad when you’re used to living with partial electricity. I managed to find a candle and some matches after checking in four different boxes. There’s something simple and soothing about watching a candle burn and listening to the rain. For some reason, rain ends up being my most frequent topic for poetry. It is so mesmerizing and can touch on so many emotions. Thanks to last night, the poem above is the latest piece to add to my unofficial rainy day collection, and for the record, the power did come back on about half an hour later.