I remember the ire of a violent downpour
as it pounded upon my own little parade
and how the shock o’er laid my body
to make of the living a deadly phantom.
It’s phantoms that walk the halls and malls,
the coffee shops, restaurants, bars,
seeking the means to cut the cloth
wound tight around happiness.
I see them and know there’s no where to go
but back to that little parade
where the rain washed everything out
and they floundered in mush and slush.
If they’re like me they don’t like to be
in a place of no escape
but the way to be free is to feel again
the full force and effect of downpours.
Best do it from a safe house
where laughter’s the best medicine
because everyone laughs after the fact
that threatened but didn’t kill.
It will rain again and I’ll feel again
but next time perhaps no parades
but rather a stroll undaunted
out there in the pounding rain!