We Never Feel the Rain

Poetry is, and should be, the essence of a person. Like a painting, a fingerprint, or the unique way each person's eyes sparkle, poetry cannot be copied or replicated. That's what I love about it. I write to get stuff off my chest. I write in the hopes that someone out there understands how I feel.…

After falling through warped spacetime
on a quest for unknown treasure,
we found that glitter couldn't beat
a simple friendship
and a secret patch of concrete flooring
beneath an old but sturdy roof
to keep out rain.

Synthetic stone and metal pillars, unchanged by time or trial
Happily supporting a love more stable
And more natural than themselves.

Oh! I am safe here.
I feel it, just as I feel the
almost blistering summer heat
and the just past freezing winter wind
press my face in tandem.

But we never feel the rain.

For we are safe and dry
In a friendly venue that
We had almost forgotten was our own.

My pupils routinely dilate.
Opening wide in hopes
To catch as much of you as possible
In an overflowing armful
of future memories
still wrapped up in delicate paper
the color of the present.

There are no walls
in hearts or buildings as we talk:
the open air somehow breaking us down
into our very essences.

And though we talk forever,
there is never enough time
For me to absorb this blissful clarity:
This peace which shakes my soul
and begs "exhale!"
"let go! I'll catch you"
"darling friend, my arms can hold you now."

But the moon pulls her tides
more swiftly every day
and time passes on
in the most obnoxious way,
So, eventually we have to learn to say goodbye.

Arms form rings
And tie comfortable knots,
around brother and sister,
Making sure that hearts are always twined in one.

Drops of water fall again
and fail to dilute the harmony
of two concentrated spirits
Aching for twin company.

© Poetry.com