Falling Rain

It’s cold, it’s silent, it’s dark

I’m sitting alone beside a warm fire

Watching people in coats pass by my window

Faces filled with a lack of desire


It’s warm inside

I shudder as a shiver passes through my body when someone walks in

I look up to see who it is

It’s a pale man, dressed in green


I invite him to fire

He politely declines and sits on a chair not far away

I study him, he’s different

He’s special if I may


Unlike others he doesn’t look quite monotone

He’s quite bright, like the fire I’m sitting next to

He burly, made of more than just skin and bone

He is like a candle in the darkness, something new


I study him a bit closer

He dresses well, with a fiery red suit laced with green flames

He walks over to the bar

Asking for the bartender’s name


He’s different

He’s not pale, or dull

He not drunk, or spent

He’s warm, yet cold

He’s one, but many people at the same time

He has variety, he has shape

He has the body language of a mime

Easy to understand, difficult to comprehend


And as he left I finally knew who he was

The fire roared to life, the rain increased its downpour

He was the falling rain

The Icognito Writer: A post from December 2, 2016.


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