The Rain Train

♦ Al Pirani ♦

Rain stains my clothes like pain stains your mind.

We are told humans are exquisitely one of a kind.

We have been lied.

Layed light like the soft rain on me.

Wherever the droplets origin may be.

They all have different states of well be and walks of life.

One flies a kite and the other throws a knife.

A knife through my heart.

Through this dreary place of millennials I'm carried in a car.

In the car the water pounds.

Wishing no remorse upon a sudden sound.

The sound of a knife - raindrop weaves into your life like a scar.

Not very far.

There are stars

Star gazes.

These blood - rain stains of chill give me crazes.

In a haze of hazy light.

The red - blue drops of stain are a transparent unclear sight.

The rain on the weather channel says it will continue into the night.

When the birds don't take flight.

Porter has a ghosting dark site.

Furry pigeons shoot into your heart like a sword.

A bloody sword.

Leaving you swore on the floor you scored.

You haven’t gotten very far in life.

You never got to say goodbye to your children and wife.

They will never play at the playground the same.

Or drive their mother insane the same.

Convinced their father lies there in porter with rain stains not blood stains.

One day if they're ever locked up in chains.

Experience the same pain.

Play the same games.

Ride the same trains that he once did.

As a kid they will know they lived their life like he once did.

Like he once had his clothes stained with droplets.

Always keeping that second thought tucked away in their t-shirt pocket.