The days of blue rain are upon us
they bring tears of sadness
and the artifice of joy
the thunder has shaken
the drops loose from the clouds
and the lightning
has split the tiny hairs on a child’s neck in two
the world has rolled over in black hatred
and we are drowning in the beautiful blue rain
the globules are cool and hot at the same time
like white-hot snowflakes cinching the rooftops
they run smooth along the edge of salacious minds
and gather in a pool of entanglement
at the bottom
it is the voice of ecstasy
and the final words of death
giving their last discours
It is forgiveness carved out
from the word disaster
It is the savior and the sinner
hiding in the shadow of Kodachrome
and a little boy kneeling at a pine box
counting the grains
It is that illusion riding a white horse
into nowhere
and we are the observers
staring from the basement window
while the blue rain squeeze through tiny cracks
in the tattered red bricks
It is unstoppable
and it is quiet like a moth
flickering by a dim street light
there is life and there is death
in every drop
and we are nothing more
but the victim and the victor
of the beautiful
blue rain.. ζ
Ken Riccio original poems ©
