Seattle Rains Are Baptismal

It rains here, so I am safe and comforted.

               It rains and the wind is cool, the sky so grey.

               The rains wash away the scent the demons follow.

               The rains wash the blood from my hands.

 

               People I know up here, love me, but have no time.

               I stay in a little house with lush, knotted trees.

               I sit in them, and dream of an Elven Princess, from before.

               The rain cannot wash away her kisses, or kindness.

 

               In my room, with the innocent tales of enchanted forests,

               I try to hold onto to the cleanliness the rains have given.

               That Elven Princess comes to me, sweet and winged,

               And for a moment, a flicker, there’s more than hate, anger.

 

               She sleeps beside me, and I can touch the stars, and bleed.

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