Rain played staccato

Rain played staccato jumping off the wooden deck of sun-drenched patio.
The steam coming from her cup kept dissolving in the seeping waltz of drops, evoking the picture of some emotional heat that
we say
tends to fade away under the sobering shower of fresh dizzying experiences


Rain will clean this valley;
It will bring the whole flora up into full bloom
As well our hearts will get seeds planted – those ones of serenity with a delicate touch of joy
 
Its power will embrace the whole width of this place
Will soften the sharp patches of land, getting to the distant parts of its "pain", turning it into "silk"
The same will be done with our soul...
 

If we can trust our feelings? If our oaths of love, that stifling passion and ardor, are the essence to rely upon?
If that very reckless power of love, that once seared the acres of your heart, left the scars as plowed across it would accept the time’s gift and let the sparkle go?

So we are lying to ourselves every time when we assure this feeling would last forever, this is inevitable, this is REAL?
 

Every passion once loses its sense
Every obsession turns into a dormant nap
maybe
no Love may persist?
(I don’t believe)
Only a Deep One may still turn the light on
No rain can reach its bottom