The rain

He falls down,
streams down,
drips down,
flows down,
all the way into our dear mother's lap,
our beautiful mother,
earth.

The rain falls,
giving our sadly abused mother
a thorough cleansing of her beautiful form.
Washing away all the sins of man,
all the impurities inflicted by him.

The rain falls,
the rain crashes,
it beats a thunderous lethal orchestra.
It beats down on all of man's cruel machines,
destroying all that pricked her soft, vulnerable soil.
It breaks down concrete walls,
so cruelly and forcefully implanted
into her soft skin.

I hear him raging and howling,
uprooting the lifeless,
sharp thorns embedded in her skin.
He cries for her,
for her sufferance.

The rain falls,
he falls, so slowly,
softly, gently,
nourishing, giving life,
slaking our mother's thirst,
her dying thirst,
for green, green,
ever so green grass
upon her scalp.

He falls
to a gentle, quiet rythm,
a music so beautiful to my ears.
He carresses the bark of a tree,
its leaves,
the tips of my fingers,
as I stretch my arms out,
pleading for more.

I wish I was the tree,
so I can spread my arms out,
so wide,
so I can grow,
grow with all his nourishment,
inside every inch of me.