the rain
falling on your shoulders
crimson like the blood you spilled
of the men you killed
you're walking in the rain
hoping the rain will wash away
the blood you spilled
of the men you killed
shame the rain is crimson
red, dirty, burning
like your conscience
the rain
helped you before
do you recall
that forgotten piece of lore
that day you stumbled
on a sidewalk
and in your theories too
do you recall
the whole world spinning wrong
do you recall the rain
washing away
the sin of that day
the rain
brought life and death
filled the basin of Neva
made waters overflow
a surge hit you from behind
brought you down
drowned you long enough
for you to confess
I see it in front of my eyes
the water carried you to me
you knelt before my teary eyes
you said my name
and there you begged for the rain
and there you begged for the rain
for the rain to wash away
the blood you spilled
of the men you killed
I remember it clear as day
how there you begged for the rain
for the rain to wash away
the blood you spilled
of the men you killed
shame the rain was crimson
red, dirty, burning
like your conscience
I figured that not the rain
not the shame
but your conscience
would be the punishment fit
for the crime you've committed
YOU ARE READING
The Jackdaw and Other Poems
Poetryas one grows up one tends to forget how one felt a couple years ago I am the same amount of a novelist as I am a poet between my lines I captured my emotional growth and the battle cry that I am back from the dead
