Greedy Rain

The rain was not always beautiful,

It was a procession of water-drops and nothing else.
It fed on your paper boats
and whispered its secrets to the winds,
licked your cheeks when you walked back
home from places that wouldn't take you in,
until the taste of your loneliness salted the cheer of your childhood screams
deposited in broken skies.
The water is greedy to learn your fears,
to linger on your windowpane 

when the trees cast phantom murders on the bedroom glass
in which you left music to mix with humidity
last Friday evening; you were too busy to notice
when the showers left your searing escapes
because it had to rush to potholes in your street,
come morning you would not find 

the stone that marked the route to her home,

Your anguish would be photographed by sly mirrors
because the tissue-paper laughter tears when retrieved,
the heads of your sorrows look comical
perched on spears crashing onto dry earth,
The army plans to leave no survivors,
it plans to scorch every temple in your memory,
cut the throats of the babes,
force traders to see the rubble and find opportunities to reinvent
a civilization in you,
and the descendants will call their history beautiful.

Image Source: Zachary Johnson