The pitter patter of painless rain plucks at my window,
Pressing to my brain.
It sounds like children, lots of children
Dancing. Most can't keep time
And have no sense of rhythm
But they fall into it anyways,
Into the fun of it,
Because their friends are doing the same
And gravity pulls them down into it.

The swish swoosh of swift wind sings through the yard,
Sinking into my skin.
It sounds like my mother, not too long ago,
Smiling. Back when she was happy
With her marriage
And her pain didn't scream across the distance she created
Through the lines on her face
And make my loyalties ache.

The caring caress of the cackling fire carries through the air,
Calling to my soul.
It feels like the comforting security of
Knowing. If anyone knew what that felt like
They must say it feels like this;
So warm yet so fragile
So terrifying with its sudden power to desolate.

The wet wisdom of words wakes me from sleep,
Waxing poetic in my ears.
Be careful with them, as it is hard to tell when they are
Lying. Beauty and truth and clumsiness and falsehood
All to be contained in the characters on a page.
How strage; how terrifying.

The little lies of life lilt through the city,
Luring away my dreams.
If they made a sound, it would probably be a bird
Singing. We may think they sing for us,
But we are so wrong.

The jovial joy of Jupiter jumps through the night,
Jarring my imagination.
How strange it is to hear a baby
Sobbing. Or perhaps not.

The tall terror of tears touches the walls that trap me,
Tearing at my lungs.
It's echoed in every song the radio is

The entrancing echo of the emptiness eat away at the dawn,
Estimating my worth.

The last line of a poem that maybe doesn't quite fit.