Raining Recital

It is a dreary sort of business
looking into the sky of rain
and deeming it to damn dark
to give a damn at all.   In the midst
of a sudden stroke of genius
the abysmal sky demands
that you let go of the world
and take a moment to breathe
in the wet and fragile showers.
In the words of a better poet
the people pitter patter as they
chitter chatter over the pinging
and panging of a torrential
raining.   This is the lullaby
of bitterness, as the sun is coated
in disguise by the cumulonimbus
formations of ugly grays
on these here damned dreary
days.   What is it a man can hope
to dream when the brightness
is not even upon the earth,
because fall rain is shrouding it all
so that all is stark and drained?
Sing the rhyme in time and take
a chance that a rain dance
was committed by some nobody
on the other side of the world. 
When the oil slicks on sacred lands
trip up the doctor who screams to the sky
for the earth.   Here it is a botched
ceremony causing the week long
tear fall of accumulated moisture's,
and we left to cerebral tortures
as the downpour trickles out
in slow but deliberate dribbles
until building up to a chorus
of forthcoming signals.   This
is the answer to the age old
question, an inquiry rife with time
wounds, and considered a perplexing
denouncement.  Who is in control?
The man, the god, or the earth?  Perhaps
all three, and, and is the word to throw about
for its god, and earth, and man, and we
all but strangers in our promised land
suffocated and weeping on end,
decidedly beside itself with heaping
of turmoil and bloodshed, and when
god lets his terrible voice shown down
he unleashes a gasp of sadness from
our choking mother earth, and the people
drown, and the people poison
commuting to and fro, and demanding
power to power their entertainment systems
as the sports men play sports ball
and the cartoons recite the age old
adage of the fart joke.   The rain,
yes, it all comes back to the rain,
we keep it acidic and it keeps it dreary
and we keep inside all worn and weary,
our minds filtered till its nothing else,
as the dreaming comes to an end,
as the dreaming comes to an end.