It's raining, again, in the hearts of man.

If the rain must come, let it come.
Let it come, if the rain must come.

Washing away the old sad tears that well from swollen eyes, making clean my used and beaten heart.
Never will the kisses, I miss, of a misses who once kissed me like the rain does now, be trusted so permissive.

A widow to my mind, once tricking my defense heart, walking like a phantom aberration into mists apart.
Counting your imperfections in my mind's eye like freckles which dot your ear, I watch the vapor swallow you dot by dot.

Why must I be used up and left like a shabby rag, pulling myself into the rain to wash away the stains?
I look back and realize, I should have perceived what you intended, as I was left to second-hand intentions.

I have become untouchable, as I swear to wash everything away, never again.
Now. Now, I am the rain.

So. If the rain must come, let it come.
Let it come, if the rain must come.

Original work written by @newsensation
[Picture Courtesy of pixabay]