I look out through blinded windows
At the grey rain lightly falling
- An metaphor for the incessant, the eternal
Sprinkle of dreams on reality.
I look out and see rainbows
Swirling in puddles of oil
A artists palette lost on the tar
Where he left his fantasies to falter
And weave among coughing vehicles.
It is time that I left my green
Cubicle and its cold square,
To seek a life that does not war with love,
An existence that is close to the heart,
A calling that lets me get out and feel the rain.