Rain and Wind

this is not a sad poem, but an effort I made to make the words sound as if they were stream

Your sound is like a cloud's
teardrops in the ground and around
them fire burning the tired
souls. Barbed wire cannot hole a prayer
from sending his pray, every day
to the god he thinks is ok, to say
what he needs, feels, sees
to be destructive and inactive
he remains, so his voice fails
to reign, over the rain
and reach the sky, to ask why
all these happen, we cannot fly,
he just sits tight, he is tied
to rest and the best
thing he does is realize
the truth but never prove
himself as a warrior, only worrying
he does but as soon as
he gets afraid he might trade
his soul for the old
tiring chase of the wind
till the end, till he's dead.

Author's Note

thank you for any reviews and for reading!