A great poet had once asked:

"If the rain can touch me,

Why, then, can't I touch the rain?"

How is it he can see?

How is it that I cannot?

Why are mortals faces masked

In woeful harmony,

When great love is lost in vain?

Yet, dance so merrily,

Ingrained like a cloned robot?

Is there really a Promised Land,

Filled with angels and hope?

Are skies in fact gorged with stars?

Or are we just so small,

It appears to be that way?

Words sift through like grains of sand,

And twist on lengths of rope.

They touch us not, yet, leave scars.

Moving thoughts in us all.

Lending voice to hail the day.

It is twilight now for me.

I watched the sun bleed gold,

As nature begins to sleep.

Somewhere, I ought to be,

Awakens with sunrise blue.

Alone, these musings I see

So clear, soothing, I'm told.

A gift that carries me deep

In worlds of poetry,

Where rain can truly touch you.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

A piece inspired by the words & music of Gordon Lightfoot

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