Dark, Dark Rain

I realize this is a dark poem the day before Thanksgiving,
but tomorrow "IS" Thanksgiving and I have a Thanksgiving
poem for that day.
 
rain coming down hard in the midnight hour
The Hovel is bleak among its solitude
thinking of death as a fix-all cure
walked outside a while ago
allowing the rain to cleanse my body
and mind
seemed to me I was born into solitude
thinking of the ones who have gone on before me
solitude . . . a condition of being
which gives into thinking much too much
of the past
what was done to me
what I have done to others
as I listen to the rain pounding down
helpless to stop it
we are such weak human beings
build monstrous towers
i.e., the tower of Babel
thinking about Genesis of the Good Book
wonder why
went back outside fully clothed
a little while ago
powerless among those alive
those dead
felt like I was crushed
like willowy reeds among the bayou
of my mind
feel so all alone
don’t understand why
on the cold dark thunderous night
for I do have love . . . and
love is complete and perfect
and even if it isn't
it is all I want and need
I came back inside The Hovel
shucked off my wet clothes
dried myself off
realizing the tempest within my heart
put me in a funk  
so I sat down and wrote this dark poem
dark yes
but after finishing it
a smile took complete possession of my face