Il Pleut

Fall down, Fall down.

Oh the pain

Of the rain.

Il pleut

Dans mes yeux.

When I look up,

Never do you look at me -

Just stare back through.

I'm as translucent

As the  drizzle of tears

That you pour onto my face.

As the heavy, hostile shower,

That forces me to take cover

'Neath a frail tree.

Grey.

Blue.

Never ending atmosphere -

Only ever thwarted by the black

Blanket of the cosmos.

Grasped exclusively by the elite -

The worthy.

Nothing is there for me

Up there - silverlining.

My foot remains grounded,

In a puddle.

"S**t!

Bollocks!"

Clouds brew in you

With rage and scorn -

As ugly as the Matterhorn -

Just to rain again

On my black eyes.

To drip

Into my gaping mouth.

Flood my heart

And roads, all ways.

Green.

Brown.

A rain for which I did not dance

Or prey for

In a desert land,

Moistening the sand.

A knife driven into the dome,

Shattering its glassy existence.

Tear tracks tearing membrane -

Sucking in the stars and the moon.

Impact the world.

Oh the pain

Of the rain.

Il pleut

Dans mes yeux.