Rain

This might be edited in the future, not sure. For now, here it is.

The day is rain; the rest is mud

But artificial roads beckon me,

Inviting me to my destination- had I one

A chorus of ambient metal courses

through the fingertips of my soul

I wander semi-familiar paths

And choices present themselves

And decisions are made in a flash

The flash of photography;

Hardly voluntary

One right-wrong turn and I am

I am heading toward my grandmother;

An act as old as me- but cruel memory!

This is a resting place,

Mere fabric, not reality

Fabricated photography;

Hardly voluntary

Time!

Cruel wicked bastard!

Not our fathers' son

The eraser hunting the Word,

The Word that pens creation

From the eroding mountain tops

To the depths of memory

The erased, the undone

The forgotten evaporating

Rising up to make new rain

So mountains will be afraid

The day is short, the rest is rain

The rain that closes roads

Is the rain that is time that is death

Walking in circles, seeking nothing

Walking and walking until we lose breath

Lose the photography,

And breath is become voluntary

Lose the photography

And life is become voluntary