A New Religion

in the morning,

raindrops bounce off the roof,

surrounding the house with

soft slender fingers,

tenderly stroking its hair,

gently caressing her

cheek and lips;

it has been raining for days now,

there is a wisdom in the rain,

as it cleanses more than

just the earth,

and I sometimes wonder

if there is anything left in

which to believe,

I suppose there is always yourself,

but I know I will never

believe in that,

so I am left on the outside,

with nothing but the morning rain,

as it makes love to this shell

surrounding me;

perhaps I should start

a new religion,

the religion of nothing,

paying homage to the rain,

worshiping the god of nothing;

by now the rain has stopped,

birds sing sweetly outside

the window,

as I sit quietly inside and write,

they understand this new religion,

they have understood it

from the beginning;

they have understood it

all along.

.

.