"it ain't just the rain...."

@Uootem

in this poet's dreaming eyes,
he's letting me live life to its fullest with you,
going about our long-ago-like days...
doing the things we used to do.
but as i sit here reading his words,
i feel the tears from reality start pouring...
and it ain't just the rain.

where my heart finds his passioned words,
is a place that I no longer share with you,
where poetry is not heard nor trusted,
for it seems nothing he can write
would ever change for the better
anything about our future.
(perhaps it does not exist as he hopes).

so i sit here... watching him write another useless poem,
my tears are pouring hard... like the ink from his pen,
falling faster than rain...
racing against the pain that forms in puddles.
he does not make me smile... for pleasure is not his work
he only makes me think and wonder
what would bring you here.

he tells me that the secret is hidden somewhere within.
that his words are dream fulfillment... maybe.
But all i read is the futile somethings a poet might say.
no smiles, no laughing, no love.
none of this kind exists... for you are still not here.
so i sit, my tears drenched in the sadness he writes of.
i scream... somehow can't this paper remain empty?

i wish i knew how to stop the rain...
to make the poet write of something else...
there must be some happiness left in my world!
but i suppose that would be asking too much,
for i know he will only find his completeness,
when he at last writes the composition of words,
that brings together again me and you.