Array ( [sid] => 28391 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Rain [time] => 2003-12-01 18:20:56 [hometext] => These words came to me one night soon after I had lost my best friend to his lover. He was my inspiration and my joy. [bodytext] => Each raindrop as it hits my window has a mission. They race in rivets down the glass to form puddles on the earth. From puddles they flow as one into a stream down my road, growing in size until they reach a storm drain. From there they rushed along into a great river that releases them into the ocean.

The cycle begins anew, each raindrop a part of the clouds that pass over the mountains of China, the plains of Siberia, the cities of Europe and the forest of America. Each seeing so much, but only being able to express it when it hits my window.

My tears can only express themselves as they spill down my cheeks. Understand that these are not tears of sadness. They are memories of you and I meeting on a windowpane, tumbling over each other down our own road together and getting lost in a storm drain of chaos and a river of time, only to begin again, but no longer together.
I do not cry for the loss of you, I cry for the memories I can no longer have with you.
[comments] => 1 [counter] => 316 [topic] => 22 [informant] => sol_fire [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LostLove ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Rain


Rain
Date: Monday, 1st December 2003 @ 06:20:56 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: sol_fire
Each raindrop as it hits my window has a mission. They race in rivets down the glass to form puddles on the earth. From puddles they flow as one into a stream down my road, growing in size until they reach a storm drain. From there they rushed along into a great river that releases them into the ocean.

The cycle begins anew, each raindrop a part of the clouds that pass over the mountains of China, the plains of Siberia, the cities of Europe and the forest of America. Each seeing so much, but only being able to express it when it hits my window.

My tears can only express themselves as they spill down my cheeks. Understand that these are not tears of sadness. They are memories of you and I meeting on a windowpane, tumbling over each other down our own road together and getting lost in a storm drain of chaos and a river of time, only to begin again, but no longer together.
I do not cry for the loss of you, I cry for the memories I can no longer have with you.


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