In The Rain
In the rain.
The sensation of the crackle of her favorite classical record drifting in the air,
And unafraid, she waltzes with herself and the dark shadows on the walls.
She quietly sips on her pallid cup of tea in the early hours of the morning,
Before the sun rises, as she is left alone with her anthology of romantic era poetry.
Slipping into the tweed jacket she had saved for these months of rainstorms,
She walks excitedly, calm found as the early autumn wind nestles against her neck.
The misty blanket of fog hangs low in the sky and veils the top of the buildings,
Riding the bus in the rain, passing the time by thumbing through a well-worn book.
Discovering comfort and seeking solace in the grey skies and storm clouds,
Sea of umbrellas all moving as one as their owners hurry toward their destinations.
And she rushes into a meek hidden coffee shop, tucked away in a tiny desolate alley,
Her morbid sense for beauty fulfilled with acceptance of where she stands now.
The sky is lavender, and time is nothing but the steam of tea floating around her lips,
Reading from a rooftop terrace, she feels like she's simply floating above the ground.
Reciting medieval love sonnets to herself and digging her hands into library sales,
As she lets her raven black hair down in the eerie mist in the walk home.
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I love the idea of celebrating seasons, and welcoming every season with happiness and excitement. My favorite season is winter but I love monsoons too. Rain brings me a feeling of refreshment and new beginnings.
p.s. the next poem is going to be quite a bit similar to this, it is about autumn and the feelings of fall! See you there!
QOTD - What does the rain remind you of?
The sensation of the crackle of her favorite classical record drifting in the air,
And unafraid, she waltzes with herself and the dark shadows on the walls. She quietly sips on her pallid cup of tea in the early hours of the morning, Before the sun rises, as she is left alone with her anthology of romantic era poetry. Slipping into the tweed jacket she had saved for these months of rainstorms, She walks excitedly, calm found as the early autumn wind nestles against her neck. The misty blanket of fog hangs low in the sky and veils the top of the buildings, Riding the bus in the rain, passing the time by thumbing through a well-worn book. Discovering comfort and seeking solace in the grey skies and storm clouds, Sea of umbrellas all moving as one as their owners hurry toward their destinations. And she rushes into a meek hidden coffee shop, tucked away in a tiny desolate alley, Her morbid sense for beauty fulfilled with acceptance of where she stands now. The sky is lavender, and time is nothing but the steam of tea floating around her lips, Reading from a rooftop terrace, she feels like she's simply floating above the ground. Reciting medieval love sonnets to herself and digging her hands into library sales, As she lets her raven black hair down in the eerie mist in the walk home.
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