Like rain that rains down into the drain, so sorrow and joy and pain
Flow and soak into my soul becoming grass and flowers that grow
In seasons of my life that I live with others and in others — mothers,
Fathers, sisters, brothers — in an intimate web of existence
Within the persistence of the universe with which I hold converse
In my heart taking the better part of the dialogue as treasure
To keep in secret recesses of my soul, where no one knows
What jewels I hold and it cannot be told and it cannot be sold
On the marketplace of humanity in calamity for finery to clothe
Its naked self from the winter storms that blow in fierce show
Of angry angels and happy dæmons sucking on lemon blood of victims,
But nowhere is there any other place I’d rather be than in this sea
Of tranquility upon which I sail to harbor far away one shining day.
Note: This is my first attempt at writing in the stream of consciousness, first published in June 2016, and republished now due to some renewed interest. . . Enjoy and be blessed!