Rain in the City

I adore good, Midwestern thunderstorms, but as a farm-girl, I cringe at rain on non-growing things. I'm eager for winter to pass and to smell fresh, spring soil again!

Rain in the City

Thunderous rumbling

echoes

above

blaring horns.

Flashes of mystical

brightness flicker

across already lighted night sky.

Wetness spatters

against concrete and then

falls faster

and faster,

pounding refreshment

into the resistant city.

Rolling black rubber

slides over

glistening surface

and sprays

life

from above

into the gutter

where a rotting field of rubbish

futiley drinks.

My soul, wait in silence for God only, for my hope is from Him. He only is my rock and my salvation, my stronghold; I shall not be shaken.-Psalm 62:5-6

This blog post is part of a series of writing (Feb.-March 2014) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland sharing original poetry. tbergland.blogspot.com  

Click here to see my disclaimer and what I’m up to with this season of blog posts.