This Rain

This rain
falling from grace
doesn’t cleanse.

It is an
acrid, acidic,
biting, bitter thing,
searing my soul,
leaving blisters as it
burns.

It is neither
purging nor purifying,
just a rage that caught
the dusty detritus
of a life lived
alone,
aloof,
apart,
yet with a longing
for vibrant passion.

A life weary with isolation,
abandoned tradition,
and sad resignation.

Unable to rise
from its own ashes,
it covers itself in them,
and tells me everything
will be fine.

Author: smithaw50

I live in NJ. Concentrating now on a getting a full time writing career started. Glad you could be with me on the journey. Ready? Here we go...

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