Settling down on the chaos of life,
he survived in the elixir of his humor and pride.
He was wrong and stupid in the best of his days,
his wealth and breath hung up on his euphoric craze.
Pushing up the rod and button of steel,
he opened the umbrella to cease the feel.
The feel of the graceful falling rain,
he doubt that his touch might inflict the drops some pain.
Grieving about the heartless souls
that wanders by the edge of holes.
Holes drawing and sucking the essence of him
he wasn’t sure of his place and his tear glands filled up to brim.
All that he has seen and all that he has ever been
was like pure drops of the storm clinging on the clothe-line stream.
A shake and a gust was all it would take
to unsettle the nerves and to make the fall partake.
He swallowed the rest of his doubts and fears,
he pulled back the rod to bring the fabric of the umbrella close and near.
With the rumbling clouds spilled on the light dark of the day
he thought of words that his true self wanted to say.
He looked up with his eyes drowsy and closed,
million droplets still falling to give him a dose.
And all it took was the chill of the air and
he figured the purpose he was due to serve with flair.