The rain relieves the heat
But little else,
Falls bringing change
Only maybe
Not for the better,
The drips of drops
Off the brim of my hat
As sad as tears,
Exposing those that
Have rained inside me
The whole summer long,
And still,
The west that touches
My cheeks make me
Feel different,
If not whole,
A sense that
I may have moved on
Beyond my intercessions,
I think of the
List of such I brought
To the confessional
As a kid, there with
The sliding door opening
And the sound
Of the priest’s voice,
Asking me to ask for forgiveness
Only none of what I’ve done
Will come out
I feel the rain
Falling inside my head,
Hearing it dribble down
Into the remote places
Where my sins are stored,
Yet unable to wash these away,
Or make them seem cleaner,
Or less severe,
Which my brain tells me
Are severe indeed,
As I wait absolution
I know I don’t deserve
From the imaginary priest
From God
From her,
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