Rainy World

 
The world used to feel
so beautiful.  
I adapted to the rain
falling.  

The tempo changed
often
with an emotional
drumming, clearing
the world, exposing
the scent of rusted oak
woods along my path.

In gilded water
drops in my hand,
The world feels so beautiful,
clutching the magic.  

We get old
and the world
gets cold
and rain we use to know
is only a wet mess.

The rain I used to know
/ as magic /
is just a wet mess
of disillusionment,
but I still imagine.