"Monsoon Season" by Gabrielle Faust
It rained for three months, Coating the world I knew in a dull glossy sheen, The kind hard to find in high def cameras That production companies Spend millions on, Yet there it was, Cool and soothing, Each drop the patter of feet On asphalt on their way To the subdued repressed dreams They had been sleeping upon, All winter long.
And then it happened: Summer emerged, Like a Viking warrior throwing off Their brooding bloodied mantle. And into the light we were cast, Like ants beneath a magnifying glass.
Was I the ant or the 8-year-old "scientist"?
Sometimes I wish we were young again. When everything was new, When discovery was still a possibility, And the edges of everything Was not tempered by the soot of the past. When rain was pure poetry, And summer wasn't belabored, Mired in the uncertainty of tomorrow.
But if I and you were still new, Would the world not continue to bloom? When the seasons’ chaos intensifies, And humanity allows its delusions To create craters in nature’s divine instincts. When the only thing that remains, In the wake of the only constant of change, Is ourselves, Our wants and needs and dreams.
But the rain. I miss the rain, Now that monsoon season has ended, The floods subsided, And casualties relegated to "old news". I miss the rain, The patter of ethereal ghost feet Upon the asphalt outside.
Perhaps this summer won't burn, So harsh and cruel and unrelenting, Like the summers before...
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