Lines Written At the Lake

thCome Rain Come

to cleanse this

Polluted psyche.

Come Rain Come

to heal this 

Wounded Soul.


I hear you off in 

the distance.

The thunder chimes out,

calling your arrival

to our attention.

The wind blowing

roughly as leaves scatter 

to take their place at your feet.


What irony, that

I last sat there

in the rain

saying goodbye

to someone I had 

only just met.

I warrior, a survivor,

laid to rest.

In death

her ultimate healing

will take place.


We sat in the darkness

of night to send

off her spirit onto 

the path of her journey

that follows this one.

I wish her well

in the eons to come,

hoping that she surrounds

herself with as much love

as she had here on this Earth.


I sit now,

as the storm approaches,

mourning my own life.

The thunder acts as a pacemaker

trying to start my feelings again.

The wind inspires me

to cry along with Nature.


Come Rain Come

Wash over me.

My body longs to feel

the cold fringes of 

your storm against my flesh.

Come Rain Come

Devour me in your

awesome presence.

Wash away my

existence and my pain.


A curtain of rain

appears to my right and

moves steadily 

over the bridge

crossing the rocky path,

and finally reaching

my left side and obstructing

my view of the lake.


Encircled by Rain,

I sink back.

The weather only seems to

personify how I feel

inside my heart.

I feel trapped by a Circle

of rain and death that I cannot escape.


I call out for help

and the thunder drowns 

out my cries.

I try to move toward the North

and the rain falls harder and harder.

I sit down on the wet 

wooden planks and draw

my knees to my heart.


If I were alone,

I think I would sit 

here forever and cry like a child.

But I sit here,

under the slight shelter

amongst stangers

who would not undersand

my tears or my grief.


Come Rain Come.

June 1994

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