Rain Made Man – a poem

Rain clouds,

dull, grey, somber,

stretching far past seeing,

scattering their billion

silver seeds of cold

all over this old wet land.

My land.

The land I come from,

that made me what I am,

such as I am. 

This rain nourishes,

quenches, shapes, and carries us

throughout our lives

and onwards, afterwards.

We may come from the stars,

we fallen,

from the elementary heavens

above these clouds,

but I know this:

underneath it all,

I am a rain made man.