Echoes in the Rain
4/10/2025The rain begins—not with thunder's fierce cry, but with a silent stirring of thought,
A soft patter like weary footsteps treading the cobbled paths of memory’s lane, long sought.
Each drop, a gentle whisper from the worn-out pages of lessons time once taught—
Some soothe the soul like lullabies, while others, like old wounds, echo pain unforgot.
The pleasant ones, like warmth in a dream, vanish as they’re soaked into the forgiving ground,
Like echoes slipping into stillness, never returning, never making a sound—
They dive deep into memory’s ocean, where moments once bright used to be,
Now swallowed by the shifting tides of time, lost in the sea of obscurity.
But sins and regrets—those bitter drops—refuse to sink or fade away,
They pool into puddles, still and vast, under the weight of skies gone gray.
Like mirrors cracked by guilt’s own hand, where fading ghosts dare come and stay,
Reflections bearing every stain, of words unsaid and debts unpaid.
Amid the rain-soaked haze of thought, where clarity and confusion entwine,
The wheel of nostalgia turns slow and sure, grinding dreams into the brine.
A swirling portal, torn in time, through which your mind dares to align—
And from the mist, a phantom steps—an echo of what you once called “mine.”
You gaze, sunken deep into the sepia tones of a long-departed past,
While futures fade behind the curtain of rain, too fragile, too fast.
You reach, with trembling hands of hope—but visions vanish, never to last,
Like a stage shrouded in curtains white, where no actors from tomorrow are cast.
The shadow you chase begins to lose form, a memory unmade by time’s sly sleight,
A curtain of ambiguity slowly drawn, turning once-bright truths into night.
Your thoughts, unformed, dissolve before they rise, like dawn erased by fear’s own blight,
Leaving behind only scattered shards—shattered fragments of morning light.
An echo spinning in the rain’s sad ballet,
A dance that carries all your hopes away.
Some memories, like crystal drops upon trembling autumn leaves,
Cling even when the storm itself no longer grieves.
You shake the branch, you plead release with all your might—
But they hold fast, like guilt that haunts the silent night.
You bury them deep, beneath layers of laughter and years of breathless days,
Yet they rise again on winds of memory, stirring in the quiet haze.
From sorrow’s soil, they sprout anew—unseen roots that twist and sway,
Feeding silent grief beneath the bloom of everyday.
They bury joy beneath unmarked stones in lands where no dreams dare tread,
And leave your hands stained red with regret from all the words you never said.
You miss the world that lies beyond the veils of weeping skies—
The ocean vast where distant dreams and golden sunlight rise.
But still you remain within the storm’s tight clasp,
Held fast in drops of guilt, of pain, of past.
You drown in echoes, in loss that holds you fast,
And let their sorrow drag you down—unsure how long you’ll last.
You forget—the storm is not your sentence, but your song,
A fierce lament that calls you to grow strong.
So when the clouds break down and memories start to creep,
Don’t dive into the depths—don’t drag them from the deep.
Don’t chase the echoes crying in the rain,
Let them fall, release the weight, dissolve the stain.
And from that fall, let new life softly rise—
A bloom reborn beneath forgiving skies.
Fed not
by pain, nor bound by chain—
But nourished by the quiet rain.
A soft patter like weary footsteps treading the cobbled paths of memory’s lane, long sought.
Each drop, a gentle whisper from the worn-out pages of lessons time once taught—
Some soothe the soul like lullabies, while others, like old wounds, echo pain unforgot.
The pleasant ones, like warmth in a dream, vanish as they’re soaked into the forgiving ground,
Like echoes slipping into stillness, never returning, never making a sound—
They dive deep into memory’s ocean, where moments once bright used to be,
Now swallowed by the shifting tides of time, lost in the sea of obscurity.
But sins and regrets—those bitter drops—refuse to sink or fade away,
They pool into puddles, still and vast, under the weight of skies gone gray.
Like mirrors cracked by guilt’s own hand, where fading ghosts dare come and stay,
Reflections bearing every stain, of words unsaid and debts unpaid.
Amid the rain-soaked haze of thought, where clarity and confusion entwine,
The wheel of nostalgia turns slow and sure, grinding dreams into the brine.
A swirling portal, torn in time, through which your mind dares to align—
And from the mist, a phantom steps—an echo of what you once called “mine.”
You gaze, sunken deep into the sepia tones of a long-departed past,
While futures fade behind the curtain of rain, too fragile, too fast.
You reach, with trembling hands of hope—but visions vanish, never to last,
Like a stage shrouded in curtains white, where no actors from tomorrow are cast.
The shadow you chase begins to lose form, a memory unmade by time’s sly sleight,
A curtain of ambiguity slowly drawn, turning once-bright truths into night.
Your thoughts, unformed, dissolve before they rise, like dawn erased by fear’s own blight,
Leaving behind only scattered shards—shattered fragments of morning light.
An echo spinning in the rain’s sad ballet,
A dance that carries all your hopes away.
Some memories, like crystal drops upon trembling autumn leaves,
Cling even when the storm itself no longer grieves.
You shake the branch, you plead release with all your might—
But they hold fast, like guilt that haunts the silent night.
You bury them deep, beneath layers of laughter and years of breathless days,
Yet they rise again on winds of memory, stirring in the quiet haze.
From sorrow’s soil, they sprout anew—unseen roots that twist and sway,
Feeding silent grief beneath the bloom of everyday.
They bury joy beneath unmarked stones in lands where no dreams dare tread,
And leave your hands stained red with regret from all the words you never said.
You miss the world that lies beyond the veils of weeping skies—
The ocean vast where distant dreams and golden sunlight rise.
But still you remain within the storm’s tight clasp,
Held fast in drops of guilt, of pain, of past.
You drown in echoes, in loss that holds you fast,
And let their sorrow drag you down—unsure how long you’ll last.
You forget—the storm is not your sentence, but your song,
A fierce lament that calls you to grow strong.
So when the clouds break down and memories start to creep,
Don’t dive into the depths—don’t drag them from the deep.
Don’t chase the echoes crying in the rain,
Let them fall, release the weight, dissolve the stain.
And from that fall, let new life softly rise—
A bloom reborn beneath forgiving skies.
Fed not
by pain, nor bound by chain—
But nourished by the quiet rain.
Authors:
Editors:
~
NaPoWriMoPoem