Pray for Rain

The rain falls on both the righteous and the wicked.

And tonight it falls on both the same in me.

One to wash away the shame, and the other to renew.

Gone are the questions I once strived for, and come those that are new.

Both are the same and the rain still washes them away.

I wish for the answers I never found, even though I no longer seek them,

For they could have become a part of me.

But I continue on, less then what I hoped for, but more then I was.

And the rain falls on me, just as the rain falls on the thief hidden in the midst.

Although all will end in nothing, I will have a certain end.

And the rain will fall on that end.

In the land of the buried dead the rain falls the same.

The flower does not discriminate among the graves.

Even the flowers placed will fade - a testament of the passing of time.

God causes the rain to fall on the righteous and wicked in me tonight.

My bones will be food for flowers either way.

My heart, however, longs for the good I cannot seem to become.

I plant and I labor, but from my perspective all is in vain.

Except for the souls I can yet love.

All may be passing or already passed,

But I am still a soul praying for rain.