The Eloquence Of The Rain Poem by Enchanting Owl

Watching the thousand raindrops stop is nostalgic.
A flash of thoughts overflows, and it is tremendously tragic.
The present is the sword; the past is the scythe.
It's like a miner without the ability of a goldsmith.

Sitting absent-mindedly next to the window.
I sipped the newly brewed herbal tea; I hugged tightly the pillow.
Place is like being flooded with salt water.
Ashes are hunting; the remnants of gnawing pain are a floater.

Rain awakens cold thoughts I killed with the hatchet.
But the forgotten map of where I put it is like a brachet.
Keeping it is for notes and a guarantee.
Rain is the shade of the past; sunshine is the light of the decree.

There's always sunshine after the rain is my hymn.
The cycle started in the prehistoric epoch like a rim.
Can't keep up with this familiar cycle.
Sweet misery is being reused, and blood tears are being recycled.