Rain is daggers that pierce the earth
The small bodies of its blood that create
When left to stare into their faces.
Rain is a kiss from the unknown
A gift from the light that hides above it
Cleansing the past and solididfying
A gilded future.
A dream is a camera
Full of forgotten fears
And wingless birds of when
When things were…
When I was…
A dream is a blanket fort
Held sturdy by white string and rebellion
Of the photographs
It protects even those who use rock and tree
And the meek existences they battle.
Skies tell us they’ are blue
Grass says green
And roses say red
Is the light and warmth of a speck in the vast blackness
And the blindness and burns it leaves behind.