When it comes, it comes. Grounds momentarily stained. Others washed away. Some hurry under cover. Afraid. Others find themselves, out. Embraced. Drops fall ahead. The rain comes. It pours. Down on. Like wet flames. Engulfed.
Downpour against the grain. Tiny nudges to be fresh. For freedom. To wipe away. Washed out. Regret weighs down. Ankles pulled deeper. Present drowning from past indiscretion. Soaked like a sponge. Falling like a rock. Anchored to cease. Chained to drench. Sea of tears.
Caressed by velvet. Thick as chocolate. Smooth sailing. Straight down. Into the deep end. Exploring darker waters. Truth burns like acid. Swimming through contamination. Where is the flow of information? Desperate navigation. Dancing into the night. On waters’ edge. Cliffs leveled to pools. Puddles are vast.
Hearts still beat. Surrounded by purity. Innocence is not all lost. Character unwashed. Only cleansed. Chiseled from stone. Permanent in standing. Through higher tides. Fighting against force. A force of its own. Entity. Not a man-made lake. A canal by chance. Waterways. No blueprints. Natural mapping. Internal workings. A system all its own. Pipeline.
Plumber by trade. Self-maintained. Evolving. Often reused. No wasted drops. Preservation. Buckets to catch leaks. Dripping home. Dry and wet. Inside out. Drains to dilute. Filtration from the beginning. This glass is half full. Its raining. Carry an umbrella.