There is a strange infinite melody,
A deeply running current
From the hearts of man into the
Distant clouds of black and white in blue,
To release their inner secrets
Onto the heads of man,
The clouds burst forth.
Into
A rain—
A gently drifting, silent pouring rain,
And through me penetrates,
This piercing pounding flow.
So cleanse—
And wash away my hate,
Wash me in a boundless, ceaseless mist,
Like steam, like newborn’s lit immersion.
But no—
Yet the rain, the healing rain,
The timeless run of everlasting blue,
Can no more wipe clean my heart from hate,
As I can justify it.
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