Mind Full, Not Mindful

On Rainy Days

Look in to the skyline,
Looming over head,
Trees stand tall around,
Except for the train tracks:
Even so, carved from a mountain.
One way up, the other,
Down to a river,
Polluted and leading to an area,
I already know.
Rain patters on the roof of houses,
Quaint all around,
And smears the mud caked,
On my high topped Converse,
Same mud,
Same ground,
"Around here".
I'm the grey horizon,
Some calling to the storm,
The urge to join it-
Somewhere.
Water:
It cycles, travels,
All over the world,
States- of matter and mind,
And of place,
Or maybe less,
Just unknown expanse.
Water: potential.
Sou much it could be,
And it is.
So why not me?
No where to go...
But the urge is there,
I hate running but I want to,
It's a different kind,
It's toward something:
Less than expected,
But more than imaginable,
To the outsiders,
To the ones to whom the storm,
Is a burden.
Gasoline odor in the air,
Cold drops soaking my hood,
Pain in my lungs.
Decided to walk up,
Toward the mountain,
Away from the river,
So I can see it all-
It isn't much though.
All the way up here,
Rain pounds harder,
Little streams cascade on the street,
I can see everything,
And I've only walked three blocks.
Back to the horizon,
I look back into the storm,
Ignoring small town skyline,
The town's like a bowl,
A little valley,
All the water collects in the bottom,
River ships it out,
All the people stay.
Not me.
Someday.
Imagine how the same storm would look:
Three stories up,
Out a back alley window,
From a single treasure,
In a dilapidated building,
Or from the second story,
Of the New York Public Library,
Or the lights of Broadway,
Or a pizza shop,
Or a street corner,
Soulful joy of sax filling the air,
Amplified through the water.
Start back toward home,
But I don't want to go,
Lay on a park bench,
Freezing as the sky darkens rapidly,
And the metal bench hums it dull melody.
But I stay out.
Home feels emptier with people there,
Sometimes.
Walls-
Wooden, like trees,
Feel like a prison,
Inside another,
Sometimes.
Grassy field,
By my high school,
A whole town away,
Looks like promise,
Makes me pause before I step on the bus,
Sometimes.
Grey sky hold more color,
Than the rainbow that follows,
Sometimes.
A text from my parents,
"Where are you?"
A block away,
Needs to be more,
Needs to have a longer answer,
Maybe one they won't accept,
Sometimes.
My hood is drenched by now,
But it could be drenched,
Somewhere else.