Virgin Rains
In the upward skies
on the way to the highest home,
the sacred kingdom, home of the blessed,
where the clouds mark the boundaries
of the air that is split into two segments,
the pure abyss and the soiled earthly part,
the division where the cold mingles with the hot
and where the clouds lounge about the skies
loading up themselves with virgin waters
anointed with the wand of the highest priest,
drawn from the wells of the drifting cathedrals,
the rain forms and readies itself for its descent.
Down, down, down through the earthly sky
it brings the ambiance of the upper skies into view,
the anointed waters of the highest priest
that loses its purity for a good cause,
the moistening of the dusty fields below
on a mission to answer the pleas
of the forsaken farmers.
Oh, virgin rains, giver and sustainer of life,
mercy of the sympathetic heavens,
tears of the consecrated clouds,
purifier of the impure earth,
cleanser of the squalid skin,
supplier to the feeble rivers,
empowering them to run to the seas
and return to the skies with
intentions of falling again in due time,
please do not ever stop thy forming and falling.
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