Some time ago, my youngest child was studying about the water cycle, and he drew a picture of what he called “the Rain Monster.” Thus, this poem.
Life Cycle of the Rain Monster
He starts as a bloody puddle,
dangerous despite his lack of
claws, teeth, and pointed tail.
He can make you slip and die
and people will skip your funeral.
After a while, he moves skyward
where he forms a terrible cloud,
black and grumbling, shot through
with lightning and unrelenting fury,
able to strike you from fifty miles up.
Finally, he pours himself onto the
tired Earth and covers everything.
No one is immune from his soaking
touch and violent whispers more
soul-chilling than the coldest rain.
Then he starts all over, his black
memory strong after lifetimes of
moving up and down through the air.
If he missed you last time, he’ll make
a special note and seek you out.