Dry Rain...

A redundant spot resonant trial,

Like a flood in a cup of scarred lessons,

I tried, I failed, I rose vigilant,

More vigilant to chorus all these prayers---

These prayers for glory…and for the fear I reap.

If it was a mere nail-hole in the wall,

I could hang a picture of old classmates,

If I knew how to fly with my feet

Deep in the ground, I have sunk so deep…

I would stand tall. Head held high

I would rise to the price of an utter closure…

But I have sunk, I have sunk so deep

In the muck of bleach

And would-be crystal-clear water.

It is a deafness to hear noises austere,

Cacophony of a past poised array of voices…

Voices from memory that still sings so vividly

So blithely now...even when I’m running…

Running with the wind in my ear.

The nauseous ride on the underground train,

Still lingers like water left running,

Oozing and seeping from an uncut vein,

Holds me in my moments of livid, rapid, lucid rain…

I have held myself long now,

When the others finally let go,

On this virgin morning I rise

I rise to finally wake,

To reach out in their dawdling wake…

To touch the invisible faltering rain….

That patters softly, fluttering the leaves

Surrounding me, and the ghosts in my eaves

That I can hear so clearly, flooding my ear,

Drying my eyes, whispering to me my sweet dreams…

Sweet dreams come, sweet dreams go,

Memories remain, burdened on tow.

I can catch the wind, rustling the leaves

Surrounding me and the ghosts in my eaves.

No rain, but wind I can hold in my palm

As the morning dream trickles away…

And the fear of glory is long gone

When the end of trial is slowly unchained.