Drops

A drop is never seen as vividly
as it is felt when it strikes one's skin,
utterly soaking our complete attention,
awash with the clarity of focus to a second
where all history stops in our mind to drink a single gaze.

The brain immerses in the swirls of ticks
time's portrait cascades across our soul,
we submerse ourselves in its refreshment
letting it seep so intoxicatingly into our being,
like a steady rainfall
one experiences without an umbrella
willingly drenched to allow it to be apart of our history's current.

One splash speaks to us like life's stop watch,
reminders of its fleeting, vaporous entity,
drinking so fully into our thoughts,
knowing how eons pour across the centuries,
flooding with the erosion of consciousness
before we embrace the effervescence of transition.

Inside, the pelting dew of rain's lucid pearls
throbs our waking in beads of moist remembrance.
Clock of the soul sees it clearly,
hour's portrait masks the crystal calm of pure fluidity.

We come to see how water always exists just as day,
but transcending the present like our reality
being the perfect face to express the flow in ages.