I am sitting on the porch,
the rain streaming down
onto me through the screen,
watching as the dark sky
rolls across the land,
lightning screaming in
the dense storm.
Thunder rumbles,
the inner, pent-up fury
ready to burst forth,
as might a babe from the womb.

The droplets of water
tumble from their heavenly cheek,
falling free to the earth,
only to become, once again,
imprisoned.

The cool night air enters my lungs,
filling them slowly,
at a rhythmic pace not unlike
the pitter-patter
of the rain dotting the landscape.

In a moment of contemplation,
I gaze to the sky
to watch the pure embodiments
of ourselves journey
down and down and down and down,
hitting cold ground in a monotonous pattern.
I realize then,
watching this common spectacle,
that we are no different than the rain --
we are all just finding our way,
cold, wet, but never alone.
But never alone.
 
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