The Language of Rain
When the sky speaks in whispers, soft and low,
It speaks a language only the heart can know.
A silent song, a gentle plea,
The rain is its voice, setting spirits free.
Each drop a word, each splash a rhyme,
A story told across the sands of time.
It speaks of sorrow, of joy, of peace,
Of endless cycles that never cease.
The rhythm taps upon the ground,
A melody that knows no bounds.
It dances on rooftops, sings on leaves,
And in its song, the world believes.
The rain speaks of memories long passed,
Of dreams once held, and hopes that last.
It carries the weight of unspoken fears,
And the solace of uncounted years.
It falls to heal, to wash away,
The scars that linger from yesterday.
It whispers secrets to the earth,
Of rebirth, renewal, and quiet mirth.
The language of rain is soft, yet strong,
A quiet force that rights the wrong.
In every drop, a message clear:
"Through the storm, you'll find your way, my dear."
So when the skies begin to cry,
Listen close, don’t ask why.
For in the rain, there’s truth untold,
A language ancient, yet ever bold.
This poem reflects the rain as a metaphor for healing, emotion, and renewal, exploring its ability to communicate silently with the world. It connects nature’s language to human experiences of joy, sorrow, and hope. Let me know if you'd like any adjustments or want to explore another idea!
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